In the Eyes of Men
by FalconWind
Summary: An ancient spell, a choice, and a will. Horandrin, Sorceror of the Thousand Sons, wishes to rekindle the righteousness of his Legion. But his quest for redemption will become something much more. Chapter 15 up! Better late than never?
1. Vision

Disclaimer: I don't own Warhammer 40K, Games Workshop does. But all original characters, places, items, etc are mine. So don't copy! Or just ask first.

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In the Eyes of Men

by FalconWind

Chapter One

        Horandrin looked out over the peaceful world with eyes that didn't exist. He sighed despite the fact he had no lungs. The world reminded him of Prospero, or at least what he could remember of it, and that evoked a melancholy sense of happiness as he remembered better days. Better days, at least in his opinion.

        If he'd had a face, it would have made a frown. He was often reminded of his homeworld, and each time, the depression that followed had not been worth the brief vision of Prospero. He chastised himself for being stuck in the distant past, but ultimately knew he'd do it again.

        He had been there, Prospero, during the 'Great Betrayal', as he called it. Horandrin could remember the fire raining down upon the serene planet, fire from their own orbital defenses. Fire directed at them by their Space Wolf brothers by the order of the Emperor. Every time the images of the burning buildings, the dying people, entered his mind, he felt the smoldering hate, and the sadness that futilely threatened to bring tears to his eyes.

        Horandrin had, of course, never told of his feelings. Such things where not common in the Thousand Sons. Before the Rubric of Ahriman, they might have, but not now, when scarcely any of them understood such 'weak' things. Still, it didn't change the fact that Horandrin, if he could, would turn the clock back. Perhaps, change the past. But if he had that sort of power, he would have done so already. He, unfortunately, did not. And he doubted that even Ahriman or Magnus had such ability.

        Horandrin wished he did have the means. The power to save them all. Like many of the Thousand Sons, he studied magic, and he indeed had a thirst for it. He was powerful, but not nearly powerful enough to alter the past. Nor, was he powerful enough to enlist the aid of perhaps Tzeentch. Not that the Changer of the Ways would help in the first place.

        He, and his small company of Chaos Space Marines, had just raided a small temple on this planet. It had been an easy endeavor, since the monks had though themselves skilled enough in the magic arts that they need not defend themselves. A flawed belief that cost them dearly. He had not killed them all though, it wasn't necessary. All they had come for was the tome, and now that they had it, they would simply leave.

        The paralysis that he'd induced on to the remaining monks would wear off in due time. By then, they would be long gone. So was his way, moderation. And it had worked so far, even if some of his brethren believed him soft. But many knew he had no qualms about killing those who stood in his path. Horandrin was a sorcerer and a warrior; but a warrior of necessity. He may be chaos in the eyes of men, but he was by no means blood-thirsty like devotees of Khorne.

        An acolyte, a soldier, came up to Horandrin and bowed. "Master Horandrin, the others are ready to leave. Shall I dispose of these wizard pretenders?"

        Horandrin looked at him with mild interest. "For what purpose?"

        "None, Master," he explained with a grin.

        "Then, no, you shall not." Horandrin's voice was hinted with displeasure.

        "Master?"

        Horandrin turned to face the soldier. "You were previously under the command of Fedeon, where you not?"

        The man hesitated, unsure of Horandrin's intentions. "Yes, Master Horandrin."

        "Then I shall explain myself once. We do not kill unless it serves a purpose. If you wish to kill indiscriminately, I suggest you devote yourself to the ways of Khorne. On this mission, we are in search of knowledge, not blood. Do you understand?"

        "Yes, Master," he said firmly.

        Horandrin nodded. "Good, now, we leave." He turned to take in the vista one last time and then purposely strode to the waiting transport.

        Horandrin traced his armored fingers around the ornately bound tome, almost with reverence. This book contained lost spells and rituals that had not graced the universe for countless millennia. It was here that Horandrin hoped to find the information he desired; the way to their salvation.

        "Please let this be the one," he whispered.

        He opened the heavy, ancient book, and began to read.

        Horandrin, a most powerful sorcerer, found the book fascinating. It was a rare thing to find genuine interest in old spells. Many times, the spells were merely variations of others; rarely did they have any true inspiration or originality. These, however, were no mere variations. These spells where, for the lack of a better word, incredible.

        There were methods of using magic detailed in the tome that Horandrin could scarcely have imagined beforehand. Ways of controlling subtle nuances or harnessing raging magical forces.

        But even as he let himself become engrossed in the tome's secrets, he was dimly aware that he'd finished most of the book and still had yet to find what he was looking for. Though, one spell did pique his attention.

        "'The Light of Revelations'," Horandrin read aloud. He read further into the spell, and a slight excitement crept into him. The spell was promising, indeed. Though it wasn't exactly what he was looking for, it did have staggering potential. But Horandrin didn't let himself get carried away. He wasn't even sure that the spell would work for the Thousand Sons. The spell relied on the person's inner-most thoughts; subconscious thoughts that the person perhaps wasn't even aware of. Depending on the person, it could spell disaster.

        Such a drastic course of action required proper and cautious consideration. Something that Ahriman had not done when he'd used the Rubric. This spell could free them, or bury them. Then a thought invaded Horandrin's mind. _Do I really want to do this? It startled him; the absurdity of the question. But when he found he could not definitely answer, he was left speechless._

        _After all this time, could I have been deluding myself? "No!", said a little too loudly. He shook his head. They were not his thoughts. "I know what I must do," he proclaimed to empty room. "You try to sway my mind, but I remain standing. So shall I remain."_

        Looking down at the tome, he focused his energies and began.

        At first, it seemed dark.  As if he was at the bottom of a well so deep the sun didn't reach him. Then the images slowly came back. The world came into focus. Perhaps it wasn't really his vision that had gone black, but his mind's interpretation of it.

        But something was wrong. This was not his quarters; it was, instead, a lush forest. He stood on a hill, overlooking a valley that seemed to contain all the splendor of the universe within. Horandrin marveled at the beauty, a beauty the like of which he had not seen in ages. He bathed in the sun's warm embrace, and savored the feeling of it's rays on his face.

        His eyes suddenly widened in shock. "My face," he realized. He brought up his hand to feel his features. He felt warm flesh and an unshaven chin. It was not the mask of his helmet. Indeed, he realized, he was not even wearing his armor anymore; only the casual attire of the pre-heresy Thousand Sons. "By Tzeentch… how is this possible?"

        "The Light of Revelation has made it possible," came the startling reply.

        Horandrin spun around with razor sharp reflexes, summoning forth magical protections. But they did not manifest themselves.

        "My power! Where is my power?" He said, bewildered. He looked at the form that had startled him. It was a man in bright blue and gold power armor; the power armor of the chaos Thousand Sons.

        "Your magical powers lie within me." The figure said. The voice sounded familiar.

        Horandrin eyed the figure suspiciously. It then dawned on him. The ruby brooch, the gold and silver chain that hung loosely at his hip. The man was him.

        "Y-you're me…" Horandrin struggled out.

        The figure nodded. "That I am."

        Horandrin's mind reeled as his brain attempted to make sense of it all. "But then… who am I?"

        "That is completely up to you." The Thousand Son said cryptically.

        "What do you mean?"

        "Look behind me, Horandrin," he moved to give him a clear view. Behind, was a vast wasteland. A gray world where the sun never shown, and the sky was the color of bolter smoke. A bright flash of lightning, followed by a monstrous thunderclap strangely unsettled him.

        The chaos Horandrin, however, did not move. "This is my world." He pointed back to the vibrant valley. "That is yours. We are both Horandrin. I am the Horandrin that gave myself to magic. I gave myself to Tzeentch completely, and was rewarded with unlimited magical power. But at a terrible price."

        "And I am the Horandrin that did not," Horandrin realized.

        The armored man nodded once more. "You took the opposite path than I. When we used the Light of Revelation, the spell made this, and made us. Right now, we both exist; as we always have. The spell doesn't simply give us a revelation. It helps us make our own."

        He nodded. "So now we decide which one we want to become." He looked at the armored figure, dressed in the traditional garb of the heretic Thousand Sons. "You look- I look different from the outside."

        "I could say the same about you," he replied with humor.

        Horandrin eyed him critically. "You look good," he commented.

        "So do you." The armored Horandrin remained silent for a long moment.

        "What?" He asked defensively.

        "How does it feel?" he asked distantly, "to be… normal again."

        Horandrin felt his chest. "Different… Good." He noticed that his other at moved closer to him.

        His other reached out with his hand and caressed the other's chest.

        He pulled away. "Hey! We may be of chaos, but we are not of Slaanesh!"

        The other raised a hand. "No, no! I didn't mean it like that… It's just… I can't remember what it was like before the Rubric. I wish I could feel what you're feeling now."

        "I understand." Horandrin laughed. "In fact, it was somewhat brash of me to jump to such a conclusion. We would never do that!"

        "No, we wouldn't. But seeing your- my- our- true form is…" He struggled with his emotions. "I have an odd request of you."

        "Such as?"

        He paused a moment. "Can I… touch you… I mean, feel your… my body. I want to feel it, somehow. It's just, when I look at you… it seems so long ago. It's almost as if you're a long-lost brother."

        Horandrin thought a moment. "Well you are me, so I suppose there's no reason why not."

        His hand reached out once more, tentatively, and it touched him lightly, tenderly, almost as if he were afraid to hurt him.

        For him, tt was incredible. The heretic Horandrin had not seen his body in centuries. His muscles were strong, his skin, smooth and flawless. It was as if he'd been blind, only to be confronted with the image of his twin. He wanted to be closer. He felt an urge to be closer to him, to himself. He suddenly felt so alone, so empty.

        Casting caution to the wind he grasped his counterpart in both hands, and embraced him in a bear hug, burying his masked face into the other's shoulder.

        His first reaction was to push the man away. _But then,_ he thought,_ he's not 'a man', he's me_. He let his counterpart hold him, making a half-hearted attempt to hug back.

        For what seemed like an eternity to Horandrin his other held him silently, and unmoving. He began to squirm, despite himself, and then, the other let him go. "Thank you!" he said, "thank you!"

        He felt as if he was beaming at him, mind swimming in a pure euphoria of a nature that Slaanesh could never hope to comprehend. It made him laugh, and smile in return. "Not a problem, brother. It seems to have done you good. Though, not to put a damper on your spirits, we should probably get to the business at hand."

        Horandrin nodded happily. "Yes, yes, of course. Whatever you say."

        Shaking his head in amusement, he chuckled. "Calm down, our decision won't be any good if you are not clear of mind."

        "Of course, you're right." He cleared a throat that didn't exist.

        "Right, so what are we going to do? I think I'm correct in assuming you wish to do what we planned; to seek redemption."

        "How could you tell," he joked.

        "You are not exactly the paradigm of a Thousand Sons' Sorcerer right now, you know," Horandrin said almost rebukingly.

        "There's a problem," he said changing the subject. "To seek redemption we would need our powers; my powers."

        "And we need to do it my way," Horandrin said, completing the thought. "But then, it doesn't really work perfectly in the first place."

        "What do you mean?"

        Horandrin looked at his pink hands, the hands of a farmer. "I could never be. I mean, we can never get our body back. I'm just a dream, a memory."

        "But you are real," the other insisted. "Up here," he pointed to their heads, "you exist. You standing here with me proves that."

        "But is that all I'll ever be? An element in our mind?"

        He shrugged. "Perhaps, but we can still try. If you don't try-" he began.

        "-You are destined to fail," Horandrin finished. "So it's agreed. We try."

        "Yes. But we will never be one or the other, always both."

        He nodded. "Honestly, though, I wouldn't want it any other way. I don't think I could live without you."

        "Yes, we need both honor and magic. I feel the same way, Horandrin."

        "We feel the same way," he corrected.

        "I feel the pull of reality; the spell will end shortly," warned the armored Horandrin.

        "I feel it also. Well, until our dreams, Horandrin," he said extending a hand shake.

        "Until our dreams," he replied taking the hand and giving a friendly one-handed hug, which was returned in kind. "We shall not fail."

        In the middle of the room Horandrin lay, his eye lenses returning to there proper green glow. He sat up, and stared at the tome, which lay open and face down on the floor. "No, we shall not fail."

To be continued…

What did you think? Your reviews are my reward for writing! Please review please!__


	2. Beginnings

In the Eyes of Men  
  
by FalconWind  
  
YES! Updated finally! You understand, I was quite occupied for the last while as I'm graduating Grade 12 (have graduated by this posting). So also I had provincial exams and finals to study for. Anyway, I've managed to put this piece up , finally. It's long overdue, I know, better late than never, eh?  
  
Thanks to all those who reviewed, especially DarkMoonWolf!   
  
I have to say that is was a pleasure reading your review! I highly recommend her LotR/WH40K hybrid AU story!  
  
Jeshone: Thanks, man!  
  
mrshinigami: The phrase "If you don't try, you are destined to fail" is one of my own devising. Or, Horandrin's devising, if you like. It's not really important, so don't worry. Just a pearl of wisdom.  
  
George: well, now I guess so!  
  
BTW, if any of you'd like to send me some info on the Thousand Sons, it would be appreciated. Also, as I continue this fic, the accuracy will probably suffer, so this will become somewhat AU.  
  
Chapter Two  
  
Six Months Later...  
  
The room was darkly lit except for the podium, which stood out brightly with the help of several 2000 watt lights. The room was large enough to contain several dozen Land Raiders, though at this moment, it contained several hundread marines of the Thousand Sons chaos marine chapter instead. The area below the podium was filled with row upon row of benches, which in turn were becoming increasingly filled by armour-bodies.  
  
This being the chapel, and this being prayer time, the room was filled, quite literally to capacity by every single Thousand Son. Most of them, simply sat silently and waited for the rituals to begin. Others, some few others, talked among themselves quietly.  
  
Horandrin sat in the row furthest forward among the few other Thousand Sons that had proven themselves worthy of the honour of being so close to the various artifacts and talismans that manifested Tzeentch's power. Every so often, a marine would pass by his seat, and throw a glance and a small nod in his direction before they sat directly behind him.  
  
Ten minutes and a dozen nods later, the Chief Librarian came into view to lead the chapter in their vows to Tzeentch.  
  
"Our Master!," the sorceror boomed, "Hear us well, as we pledge our lives to you! Listen to us well, as we vow our souls to you! Favour us well, as we praise and revere you, our Master!" He thrust his fist upwards, inciting a roar of "Tzeentch be praised!" from the gathered chapter.  
  
Horandrin, and those behind him, took part in the ceremony, if only with a slightly different air about them.  
  
Horandrin, for his part, tuned out of the ceremony as the Librarian recited the long-winded vows and pledges to the Changer of the Ways. Such things, of late, had become increasingly tedious to consciously sit through. His followers chanted prayers behind him, in low, nearly inaudible voices. His eyes unfocused, and turned inwards, to his thoughts. Thoughts of how things had changed thus far...  
  
Six Months Ago...  
  
The tall, imposing figure of Horandrin strode throught the dimly lit corridors of the fortress. He walked with a purpose, yet he carried with him an air of aimlessness. The sorceror also carried, however, and ancient looking tome tucked protectively under his armoured arm.  
  
He walked until he found himself at the door of Daleon, a fellow sorceror, and friend, at one time, for more years than Horandrin could remember. As he approached, the door opened of its own will, or rather the will of Daleon. Horandrin entered the rather small quarters.  
  
Of course, in reality the room was the same size as Horandrin's, though Daleon had a significantly more vast collection of 'trinkets'. Various items of true and false arcana alike. As well, as a number of personal affects from before the Horus Heresy.  
  
"Hello, Daleon," Horandrin said out of habit rather than true friendliness.  
  
Daleon sat on a ornately adorned cushion meditating, and did not return the greeting.  
  
Horandrin moved to the nearby table where a Chess set sat frozen in mid-game. He looked over the arrangement of the pieces carefully. Spotting the newly moved piece, he made his rather swift counter. Picking up the delicately crafted crystal knight with telekinesis, he checked Daleon's bishop. He knew that Daeleon would sacrifice his bishop in order to maintain the larger plan.  
  
Many, many years ago, they had discovered the rules for the ancient game of Chess. Occupied with more pressing and fullfilling matters the game went unnoticed for many years. It remained mostly forgotten until two Sons, in a moment of boredom, played the game, and found its stratagems and the battling of intellects intriging, and a worthwhile means of passing time.   
  
"Daleon," he said again, trying to get the sorceror's attention.  
  
The figure's eyes returned. "What is it, Horandrin?" he said less than enthusiastically.  
  
Horandrin opened the book to the page that he'd bookmarked, and set it before Daleon. "This. You may find it interesting."  
  
"I doubt it," he said skeptically. He glanced over the spell. ""The Light of Revelation'," he read out loud before diving deeper into it. "Interesting," he finally admitted. "But what do you need from me?"  
  
"To cast it."  
  
Horandrin could tell he was slightly confused. Daleon looked at the spell briefly. "Don't waste my time. This spell is well within your capabilities."  
  
"I am aware of that, but I want you to try it," he explained.  
  
The other magic user stood up to face him, his rodes billowing. "What does 'The Light of Revelations' do exactly?" he asked suspiciously.  
  
"It reveals truth."  
  
"What truth?"  
  
"The only truth that matters. Your own," Horandrin said solemnly.  
  
"Perhaps if you stop speaking in riddles, I might consider it," he said annoyed.  
  
"It reveals to it's caster the truth about oneself. It shows, without doubt, what one truly believes."  
  
He stared at him. "No."  
  
"Why not?" Horandrin challenged him.  
  
"Because I choose not to. Now leave." He pointed at the door, which opened upon command.  
  
Horandrin moved towards the doorway. "Are you afraid Daleon? Afraid of what you might see?" he jeered, his voice lowering to a sneering whisper. "Do you know how I see you? Hiding. Dodging the truth. Denying the disease, when even now you suffer it's symptoms. I'm incorporeal, not blind Daleon; I see."  
  
"That's absurd. I have nothing to fear from the truth I already know."  
  
"Then why not confirm yourself? If you really know yourself so well, you have nothing to lose. But if not, you have everything to gain." Horandrin walked into the doorway and paused. "'The bravest man only ever need face himself', Daleon." With that, he left the room, left the sorceror, and left the book.  
  
"Tzeentch be praised!" The cry snapped Horandrin out of his reverie. He looked about him, and his brothers were leaving. He'd somehow managed to completely tune-out the entire ceremony. He hoped that no one noticed his 'absence', or else some one might become suspicious.  
  
Horandrin felt a hand on his shoulder. "Horandrin, what is bothering you?" asked Daleon.  
  
"Only the past, my friend. I cannot seem forget the past year."  
  
"It is indeed an unforgettable time, but you should be looking to the future," he said, "as I do now. As we all do."  
  
He nodded. "Yes. But now we must go. Lest we bring attention to ourselves."  
  
Both of them retired to Horandrin's quarters. The room was contemporary in style, though somewhat dated. A couch and table sat in the center of the room, as well as numerous piles of ancient tomes and manuscripts. Alone now, the talked of recent developements.  
  
"Have you spoken to Calderon about our plans?" asked Horandrin.  
  
Daleon shook his head. "I dare not. Calderon is an ancient, he is more automaton than any of us. I fear he is unreachable, and I fear he may already suspect us of treachery. I don't think we can take the chance."  
  
"Every single one of us was brought into the plan with a chance," he pointed out.  
  
"True enough. But in this case, the risk is simply too great," Daleon said as he set himself down on the couch, which sank deeply with is weight.  
  
Horandrin nodded. "Still, I would have liked his support."  
  
"I would not count on it. We may have to leave him behind." Daleon clasped his hands in front of him. "Which raises another question. Where are we to go afterwards?"  
  
He gave the sorceror a sideways glance. "I have already chosen a planet. You need not worry of that. What we do need to worry about is how exactly we are to get out of the fortress and into space." Horandrin started to pace around the room, awkwardly weaving between the percarious piles of books. "I've considered many plans. Everything from fighting our way out to asking to leave. The latter has proven to be the worst scenario."  
  
Nodding in assent Daleon applied his mind to the problem. "That is indeed quite an obstacle. And, of course, magic is not an advantage here. I believe we should apply a little 'slight of hand'."  
  
"Meaning?"  
  
Daleon leaned forward. "I have read that, in times before true magic, people would employ a technique known as 'slight of hand' to mimic feats of magic." He picked up one of Horandrin's waywards Tarot cards, a replica of an ancient divination practice. "Take for example, this simple card trick." Daleon held the card in his armored hand, and, with a dramatic swing of his arm, made it disappear.  
  
"Interesting."  
  
Daleon turned his hand over to reveal the card lodged under his bracer. "That hand is quicker than the eye, or so they say. It is done by misdirection, distraction, and skill."  
  
Horandrin chuckled. "Are you suggesting we 'pull a fast one'?" he said with a humorous glint in his eye.  
  
"In so many words?... Yes," he replied with an invisible grin.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
So, still good so far. Sorry It took so long, got WAAAAAAY too many projects going at once. Please R & R! 


	3. Voices

In the Eyes of Men

by Falconwind

Chapter Three

          The forest surrounding Horandrin was unnaturally quiet. In the distance, he could hear the calls of birds, hoping not to be heard. But where he stood, some miles from the fortress, the wind was silent, and the leaves even more still.

          Horandrin moved off the path, into a clearing obscured by trees. Standing in the center, he composed himself, the world seemingly quieting further.

          He dropped into a combat stance, his legs bent and his body ready to react. Grasping the hilt of his sword slowly, deliberately, he drew it forth from its sheath, the metal scrapping slightly as it emerged. The tip freed itself, and sharp ping resounded throughout the clearing. Grasping with the other hand, he set the sword before him, perfectly vertical.

          His eyes glowed brightly, and he placed his imaginary foes around him. Without preamble, he struck out.

          A sweeping downward blow cleaved a foe in half. He spun to block an imaginary blow to his head. His body responded instantly to his commands, faster and more graceful than any man. His limbs moved the massive sword in lightning-quick, intricate movements with flawless precision. He pivoted on his waist, bringing his sword down in a wide arc, decapitating yet another enemy as his body moved with his constant footwork. His muscles, no longer muscles, moved his armoured form in a manner that demonstrated his unnatural abilities.

          He continued his practice for what seemed like hours. He stopped only when the sun had finally gone too low in the sky to keep the clearing lit.

          Sheathing his sword, he sat on the grass, a large tree bearing his weight from behind. He'd been going about his practice for nearly seven hours straight. Horandrin no longer breathed, he not longer sweat, and no longer tired. This made him and his brethren among the best fighters in the galaxy, but for all that advantage on the battlefield, Horandrin would have given it up in a heartbeat, if only to feel that heartbeat. If only to feel the dampness of skin, the aching of lungs, and the soreness of muscle.

          Instead, he felt nothing, and yet everything. He could tell the grass was below him, and the bark behind him. Each was easily identifiable, but distant. Horandrin would describe it as more like being told of sensations, rather than actually feeling them.

          In the quiet dusk air, he thought lightly, almost daydreaming. Yet the things he thought of, were by no means to be taken lightly at all. The past, present, and future, all jockeyed for position in his mind, and each was awarded only a small amount of consideration.

          Things were moving too fast, Horandrin realized. Despite his resolution to consider his actions more carefully than Ahriman, he realized that he had not done so. He had charged blindly ahead on a mere whim of a conclusion. It was true that he did not regret his using the Light of Revelation, but should he not have considered more deeply the impact that it would have on his Legion? He had confronted Daleon with the spell not a week later than his own self-casting.

          And now, only a year later, he had behind him a significant number of his brethren. And only a year later, they were already restless, impatient.

          Many of his Thousand Sons wanted to move soon, to strike, to march, to speak, to confront, anything. They wanted action, but Horandrin could not provide it.

          The Thousand Sons had not been separated within itself like this since the Horus Heresy. They had been united in their belief in the Emperor, and broken when the Space Wolves attacked. Then, when they escaped into the void, the were once again united under a new banner; the banner of Tzeentch. And now, the Legion was divided again, but this time, one side was not yet aware of the other.

          Horandrin, for all his power, could not predict the longevity of such ignorance, and this was a source of undying worry. Worry, for there was much left to do before they would be truly ready.

          No one but himself knew of the problem that threatened to halt the redemption of the Thousand Sons. Though he would not admit it to anyone, not even Daleon, Horandrin had not the slightest idea how he was going to get his followers off the planet. For, such an endeavor would necessitate a spacecraft capable of traversing the vast distances of space. At present, they had exactly zero such vessels.

          But Horandrin, for reasons of the slightest decency, could not bear to betray the trust vested in him by the many brothers that saw him now as their leader. He had not promised them blood, conquest, or the stars, but he had promised them a beginning. And the beginning that he had set into motion was coming to a premature end.

          If Horandrin could not see his dream to its conclusion, then surely time would be the one to stop it.

          Horandrin chuckled humourlessly at the thought. Time was what he needed, and what he didn't need. It was an odd bedfellow, both working for him and against him. On the one hand, more time would allow for more planning, more preparation. But on the other hand, the longer they waited, the higher the risks of their movement being discovered, and purged in a fashion perhaps befitting the Emperor himself.

          He looked down, staring intently at the grass. Perhaps, he thought, this course of action was not such a good idea. Perhaps he should have waited longer, bided his time. He did not like the fact that he had thrust this situation upon his Legion. _I should have taken more time before acting,_ he thought. _Now it is too late to stop._

          _What you did was right._ Was this his own thoughts? He could not tell whether the voice came from him, or another. _If not now, then when? When would such a chance for change come again? How long would you be able to live with yourself if you saw your brethren in their imprisonment? Trapped within body, mind, and soul. Be proud, Horandrin._

          "I am proud," he said to himself. "Proud of my brothers, who would follow me, as they follow their hearts."

          _Hearts that they owe you._

          "They owe my nothing but gratitude. That is all. Their hearts are their own," he said standing.

          A small smile would have crept onto Horandrin's face as he thought of the irony of the situation. Had he heard any man speaking of 'hearts' and 'gratitude' a few years ago, he'd most likely have laughed at him mockingly.

          But the true insult was the fact that Horandrin lacked the one thing that could put them truly on their way. "Space is an ocean, and the warp is the wind. Without spacecraft, men can only float adrift with their fate in the hands of time. What do you think of that? That our voyage is cut short at the pier?" he asked the wind.

-------------------------

          "Where have you been?" Daleon asked, his voice betraying his irritation.

          "Worried?" asked Horandrin, jokingly.

          He crossed his arms, not amused. "Annoyed."

          Horandrin continued into the fortress with Daleon fast behind. "And why so, Daleon?"

          "The others have been talking. They are restless, Horandrin, surely you can see that. They want to act now, they want to prove to themselves that this is not a cruel trick or dream." Daleon walked past him and stood in his path. "Horandrin, they want freedom."

          "If they move now, they will get death instead."

          Daleon cast his glance to the floor, and then brought it back up to drill into Horandrin. "We cannot procrastinate any further," he growled, "we need to do something, anything. And if you will not-."

          "Then you will?" Horandrin asked, dangerously.

          Without so much as a breath, Daleon continued. "Then they will. On their own, without us."

          Horandrin looked at Daleon intently. This was indeed serious. He sighed. "I apologise, Daleon. And I too wish we could move, but we are not able to."

          "Why?"

          Horandrin sighed once again, more wearily this time, and moved to step past.

          Daleon remained in his way by moving also. "Horandrin," he said, deadly serious. "What are you not telling me? What re you keeping from us?"

          Horandrin only stared back.

          "You have spoken of your planning, your ideas for our departure, but you have not spoken of any of your conclusions... I too am not blind, Horandrin. I can only assume that you have not been able to figure out a way to leave this planet. Am I correct?"

          Horandrin's silence was affirmation enough.

          Daleon's green gaze fell to the floor. "I see... You should have told us, Horandrin."

          "You understand, though, why I could not. I did not want to see those eyes, now alive and bright with hope, recede back to the monotony of before."

          Daleon approached, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "These are dangerous times, my friend. Now, more than ever, we need to be unified. Part of that unity means sharing the burden of troubles. Too many times has pride doomed a man to a lonely death."

          Horandrin nodded, but did not speak.

          "Then I hope you will accept my help."

          "I will. I should have asked, Daleon. It was stupid of me."

          "Yes, it was. But at least I know now why we cannot act yet. To do so would be suicide."

          "Yes, but let's speak of this further in private. These halls echo much too loudly for my comfort." Horandrin moved forward, and Daleon fell into step behind him.

          Several turns later, they found themselves at the entrance to Horandrin's quarters once again. This time, however, a marine stood by the door.

          "What business do you have at my doorstep?" questioned Horandrin, as he approached the marine. He was no more than curious, as he recognised him as one of his followers.

          The marine bowed deeply. "Master Horandrin, I am Sergeant Braxton. I have been sent by the others to humblely request that you enlighten us to your plans."

          Horandrin had heard of this particular sergeant before. From the parts of conversations that he'd heard, Braxton was quite a skilled warrior. However, this in itself was neither surprising nor unique; they were all exceptional fighters compared to any man. What set Braxton apart from the rest was his independant nature, which had been present even before his revelation. That was what Horandrin found interesting about him.

          "Sergeant Braxton, if I wished my boots to be kissed, I'd call a Cultist to my side. I have no time for meaningless pleasantries." He opened the door. "Besides, it hardly befits a man of your reputation."

          Horandrin held the door open. "Coming?"

          Braxton cleared a non-existing throat. "Uh, yes."

          Daleon fell into the couch, but Horandrin and Braxton both choose to stand.

          "I've heard that the men are about to mutiny," Horandrin said.

          "That's more accurate than you might think, sir. I would say that you must act quickly, or else you may lose control of them, sir."

          "You speak wisely, sergeant," commented Daleon.

          "It's simple common sense," replied Braxton. "I'm sure even you can see that."

          "Did you just insult me, sergeant?"

          "More of a small poke, sir. Shall I apologise?"

          "Don't bother."

          "Thank you, sir. I at least know that you aren't a stuck-up egotist."

          At this Horandrin laughed. "All right, Sergeant, I believe you better stop before Daleon start crying."

          This, of course, incited more laughter.

          "This, gentlemen, is what living is about." His mirth quickly faded though. "But we must now work to keep ourselves alive. Sergeant Braxton, I expect you to convey what I am about to tell you to the rest of the men."

          He nodded.

          "We have a major problem, Sergeant Braxton. I would have mentioned it sooner, but I did not want to hurt the men. But I feel I must tell you now, if only to help you understand why we cannot escape as yet." He paused, thinking of the best way to break the news. "We do not have a means of leaving the planet."

          "I know," replied Braxton.

          "You know?" he asked, surprised. "Is it really that obvious?"

          "Like I said, common sense. It seems to me, that it is the most difficult of our obstacles. We can sneak out of the fortress, or fight our way out. But even if we manage to get that far, it will all be pointless if we can't even get off this damn planet."

          Horandrin nodded. "But that brings me to the reason that you'rte still here, in this room. Do you have any ideas on how we might find interstellar transport?"

          "You mean a warp-capable spacecraft." It was a statement, rather than a question. "Off the top of my head, no. But perhaps something will come to me."

          "I hope that it comes quickly. The sooner we get a solution, the sooner we can leave," commented Daleon. "I have been thinking, Horandrin. Stealing a thunderhawk is easy enough, thus, if we can have a ship in orbit, it would not be at all too difficult to get to them."

          "But we don't have a ship, Daleon. And until we do, such plans are somewhat premature."

          "Sirs, what if we were to go on a mission?" Braxton popped the question.

          "What about it?"

          "Well, sirs, if we were to go on a mission, we would obviously need transport off the planet. In other words, we would need a ship."

          "But you forget, such a ship would be commanded by a captain loyal to the Legion, not us."

          "I don't forget, Lord Daleon. Of coursee the captain would be loyal to the Legion, but he is a Cultist. He will obey orders without question, even ours."

          Horandrin understood where the sergeant was going. "We simply must present ourselves as still loyal to the Legion as well, he will follow our orders, then."

          "Exactly."

          Daleon, though, realised yet another complication. "Both of us have the authority to lead small expeditions. You, sergeant, have even less authority. We are talking about a major undertaking; one hundred and ten space marines is quite an exodus."

          "We need at least a destroyer, if we wish to take anything with us."

          "No," Horandrin said. "I do not believe we can take much equipment with us. At least, nothing substantial. The more we bring, the more people we involve."

          "I think, no matter what we do, we're going to be involving quiet a few people, sir."

          "I will take an account of what resources we have among our men," offered Daleon. "Perhaps we have more authority as a whole, rather than individuals."

          "Yes, that would be quite helpful, Daleon, thank you."

          "Shall I ask for more opinions, Master Horandrin?"

          "Yes, ask those you trust."

          "Which brings me to another question, Master Horandrin. How is it that one hundred brothers of the Thousand Sons are able to turn from Tzeentch... I mean, I don't mean to be negative, but it seems a little unbelievable."

          "It has been in the back of mind as well, sergeant. I have no answer for you, I'm afraid."

          Daleon stood. "Admittedly, that is quite strange, but I take comfort in the fact that we have not heard of anything. We have quite a few bodies in quite a few places. We would have heard of any treachery by now."

          "Well, one cannot be too careful. There is much at stake," reminded Horandrin.

          "You need not remind me," Daleon complained.

          "I was simply stating it to the wind."

          "Sirs," interrupted Braxton, "I believe we have work to do."

          "Indeed, we do, Sergeant." He opened the door. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I would like some privacy."

          "Of course, Horandrin."

          "Of course, sir."

-----------------

Okay, I think I'll end it here for now. Sorry, no action yet, but it seems this story is not going in the direction most WH40K fanfics do. I.E. Bloodbath after three paragraphs. Oh, darn.


	4. Interlude

I AM SOOOOOO SORRY!!! I lost the disk my stories was on. I just found it behind my fridge (don't ask).

In the Eyes of Men

by Falconwind

Chapter Four

"Interlude"

      The library was deathly quiet, as all libraries are. However, the one belonging to the Thousand Sons, was perhaps a little more so. Currently there was no one but a lone sorceror inhabiting the vast archive. But this soon changed with the entrance of a sergeant, whom promptly stood at attention before the reading sorceror.

      "Ah, Sergeant Braxton, what brings you to the library this fine morning?"

      The sergeant, for his part, gave Horandrin the strangest look possible with the lack of an articulated face.

      Horandrin, for his part, savoured Braxton's speechlessness. "Perhaps there is something you wish to tell me?"

      Braxton had to consciously bring back his previous train of thought. "Yes, I did. Lord Daleon sent me to tell you that we may not have a means of getting a ship afterall."

      "That is not good news."

      "I know. But it seems we will have to find some other means of getting off the planet."

      A moment of silence passed. "Was there anything else, sergeant?"

      "No."

      "Pity," he said, returning to his book. "I thought perhaps you came for a book as well."

      "Not today, sir."

      "Then carry on, sergeant."

      Braxton did not move. "With all due respect, sir, don't you find this distressing?"

      "Extremely, sergeant," replied Horandrin without looking up. "However, what would you have me do? Run around screaming like a woman? I have devoted much time to the puzzle you speak of, and at present, I do not think any further thought would yield results. Is that to your satisfaction, sergeant?"

      Braxton crossed his arms and planted his feet. "As a matter of fact, it is not, sir."

      This did manage to bring Horandrin's eyes up. "Is that so? Well, a thousand apologies, oh powerful sergeant. I will endeavor to serve you better in the future," he said sarcastically.

      "You'd better, Master Horandrin. Because all of our futures are in your hands. I, for one, don't like having the captain 'asleep at the helm'."

      At this, Horandrin slammed his book shut in a cloud of dust. "How dare you! I will-"

      "What? What will you do?" challenged Braxton. "Both you and I know you are not the same Horandrin that would have killed me five seconds ago. The Light of Revelation changed you. It changed all of us. Whether or not that was intentional, I don't know, but what's done is done. You aren't like that anymore, so stop pretending." Braxton planted his hands on the table, and met Horandrin's fiery glare measure for measure. "You have responsibilities, sir. And if you neglect them, even for an instant, you might make our new lives a short one! You have duties, sir. I am simply a man that is reminding you of them, for all our sakes!"

      Horandrin grabbed the Thousand Son by the collar of his armour, and pulled him threateningly close. "You, sergeant, are- are-"

      "Right," said Braxton, far too calmly.

      Horandrin smoldered for a moment longer and released him roughly.

      "You know I'm right, sir."

      "Get out, I have work to do," Horandrin growled.

      Braxton bowed respectfully, and left.

      /He's right, you know,/ the voice said.

      He sighed wearily. "No one asked for your opinion," replied Horandrin, irritated.

      /But you have it, nevertheless./

      "Unfortunately. Who are you?"

      /A friend, I assure you./

      Horandrin scoffed. "I find that hard to believe."

      /Why?/

      "I know nothing of you or your motives. And I must say that I do not appreciate you speaking to me in my mind."

      /It is my only means at this time./

      "I cannot possibly trust a person I know nothing about. In fact, I cannot be sure if you are even a person. How do I know you are not Tzeentch himself?" Horandrin said suspiciously.

      The was quiet laughter. /You don't./

      "I have had quite enough of you! I shall not allow this any further!" With that, Horandrin closed his mind to all psychic emmanations around him. He felt weak, and alone, but he knew that it would most likely keep the intruder out of his thoughts.

      /That won't work./

      This time, Horandrin actually stood. He could no longer tolerate this casual tresspassing of his mind. "Leave me!"

      /It is necessary that I be able to communicate with you./

      "You claim to be my friend, then I ask you to leave my mind! Or else find another way to communicate!"

      And once again, there was silence.

      Horandrin remained still, thoroughly disturbed. Whoever, or whatever the mysterious friend was, he was powerful. Much more so than Horandrin or Daleon. Horandrin now wondered if Daleon had any contact with the voice.

      /No, he has not. And do not share my existence with anyone./

      "And why is that?" he asked, more suspicion creeping into his voice.

      /They will not trust me./

      "I do not even trust you."

      /You will, Horandrin. I apologise for angering you. For what it is worth, I can assure you I have no malice towards you, or your followers. I shall leave you now./

      Horandrin grumbled, and hoped the entity was indeed gone, for now at least.

      "Why me?" he asked himself in despair, and partly to test if anyone would answer. No one did.

------------------------

      It was late in the evening now. The sun had set long ago, and the corridors of the fortress were dim, matching perfectly their thoroughly medievil decor and achitecture.

      For the past few hours, Horandrin had been walking, or rather pacing, in a long, wide circle about the base. His body handled the walking, while his mind was completely devoted to the problem at hand.

      A lesser commander would have simply settled on the idea of attempting to steal a spaceship by sheer brute force. But any sane person would figure out quickly that that was a disaster waiting to happen.

      One could argue that applying brute force was a typical space marine tactic, for both Chaos and Imperial varieties. But not the Thousand Sons, they preferred finesse, skill, and precision. The problem with brute force tactics is that it usually involved a lot of death on both sides. The tactics they normally employed were generally safer than those of other space marine legions or chapters. This, of course, was seen often as cowardice. Horandrin, and most other rational commanders, saw it simply as efficiency. The less troops lost is more troops fighting, after all.

      And also, brute force tactics usually required one main thing: strength in numbers. A luxury that Horandrin's followers did not have.

      Besides, Horandrin could not afford to lose even a single man. They weren't just clever automatons anymore. No, once again, they truly had choice. And their lives were precious and not to be wasted needlessly. If anything, Horandrin wanted to avoid as much fighting as possible.

      They could indeed, trick the captain of a vessel, just as Sergeant Braxton had suggested. But since there was no vessel with a captain to trick, that idea was on hold. But at least it was a good, workable idea, and Horandrin was thankful for that.

      But they could not bring a ship to them, that was out of the question. So the only alternative Horandrin could think of, was simply waiting for the right time. That idea, however, was not at all appealing.

      "Horandrin!" came a somewhat distressed shout from behind. It was Daleon.

      Horandrin turned to meet the voice. "Daleon? What is it?"

      Daleon sprinted the rest of the way to Horandin. "We have trouble."

      "Trouble?" he asked curiously. Then his mood darkened. "What sort of trouble?"

      "The bad kind."

---

To be continued...

----------------------

Oooo! What will happen next??? You'll have to wait to find out!

But I have to say I'm extremely pleased at the progress I've made with the stories. This appears to be one of the few stories where I have an awesome streak. Well, don't forget to review, people! Chow!


	5. To Heed the Call

In the Eyes of Men

by FalconWind

(A/N: General Harrington speaks with an english accent and with english pronounciation (ie. lieutenant=lef-tenant) Similarly, Colonel Kamerov speaks with a slight russian accent. Admiral Tokugawa speaks with a slight Japanese accent and Captain Ross with a no recognisable accent whatsoever.)

Chapter Five

"To Heed the Call"

Imperial Guard Garrison GSI4452-X5593 (Venerable Base), Minos Corva, Tellaris System

      General Harrington's office was a fairly classical affair. The walls were wood panelled, the floor covered in lush maroon carpet, and his desk was made of oak from Earth. The entire room was feebily lit by his desk lamp, the kind with the green glass shield. It was thus quite hard to make out the various antiques that nonetheless stood proudly in every corner of the room.

      Behind Harrington's desk, where he now sat engrossed in an ancient copy of The Collected Works of William Shakespeare, were the proud Imperial Banners standing guard at his windows, which looked out to the moon-lit ocean. Beside his desk, was the glass case which normally held the large leather-bound book which he now read for the 800th time.

      To the right, opposite the case, was a bust of Napoleon Bonaparte, an ancient legendary commander of Earth's distant past.

      Lining the walls were bookcases, literally full of all manner of literature. Interspaced among the books were other family heirlooms. An ancient english broadsword, an old american cavalry sabre, an antique Colt 1911A1 Pistol, were among his most prized possesions.

      There was no doubt to anyone who knew General James Harrington, that he was a soldier, albeit a learned one. He wore his usual semi-dress uniform, with his cap close-by. But hanging by the door were his combat fatigues and las-pistol, ready to go at a moments notice.

      Harrington was on the last verses of A Midsummer Night's Dream when he was interupted by a knock on the door. He read to the end of the line before answering. "Yes?"

      The door opened, and a young man poked his head through. "General, Colonel Kamerov is here to see you."

      Harrington glanced at his watch, he had lost track of time. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Send him in, would you?"

      "Yes, sir."

      The door opened further, and the colonel stepped in. The man was quite tall, and had a tan face with a neatly trimmed mustache. He walked briskly, and with his cap now tucked under his arm; all exactly as a proper officer should.

      However, once the door had closed behind him, the colonel tossed the cap on the general's desk, and flopped into one of the chairs that was in front.

      At this, the general did not object, but rather chuckled. "Tough day, Alexi?"

      The colonel rubbed his temples "You have no idea. Was it you that scheduled the day-long exercises?"

      "No, I believe that was the commissar's idea. He mentioned the fact that he thought the men could do better."

      "That overzealous idiot. The men have never been better. In fact, I doubt the Cadians could do better!" Kamerov stood, "By all rights, these men should all be storm troopers!"

      "Calm down, Alexi, that's an order," he said moving to the small liquor cabinet in the corner. "Here, you'll feel better after a drink. Brandy all right?"

      "Yes, thank you, sir."

      As he poured the drinks, he continued. "You are quite right, Alexi; they are indeed exceptionally trained. I would trust any one of my men with my life, but I myself am interested to see if they CAN become better." Harrington presented the drinks.

      Kamerov accepted the glass. "It's just that I resent this commissar, General. He is within his authority, but... he has no right!... If you know what I mean, sir."

      Harrington nodded, sipping his glass. "Kamerov, you're the most loyal officer I have ever met, but you shouldn't let that loyalty get you in trouble. He is within his authority, and any hostility towards him will not be tolerated by the Imperium, or me for that matter."

      "I know, sir. But you have done so much, it is hard to not respect you in the most reverant way." He took a sip of the brandy. "This is good, sir, where is it from?"

      "Carris V," he replied. "It's terrible, Kamerov."

      Kamerov re-evaluated the drink once again. "I know my brandies, sir. This is quite good."

      To this Harrington shook his head. "Trust me. Brandies have gotten worse over time. Especially when those who make it have no idea what it's supposed to taste like."

      "If you say so, sir."

      "Besides," he said, changing the subject, "the men can use the practice. And if you can't handle a simple all-day training exercise, perhaps you should join me in the gym."

      "Perhaps I will. I have been feeling a bit sluggish lately."

      Just then, the comm. unit on Harrington's desk beeped loudly. Harrington answered it. "Yes?"

      It was the lieutenant just outside. "General, there is a communication for you, but I don't know who from."

      At this, Harrington raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean? How can you not know who is calling?"

      "Sir, the signal has no originator. Shall I alert security?"

      "No, put it through," he insisted.

      "Yes, sir."

      There was a brief pause.

      "Who is it?" asked Kamerov.

      "I have no bloody idea. No originator." The line became active again. "This is General Harrington, who is this?"

      There was no answer for a moment. "/The Shadows Call/," was the slow whispered reply. "The time has come. You are summoned. The call is given. Go to the planet Heram in the Vertolli System./" Then the line went dead.

      It took a few moments for Harrington to realize he had dropped his empty glass. He looked over to Kamerov, who had a most concerned look on his face. Harrington put the reciever down slowly.

      "Who was that? James, what is it?"

      Harrington swallowed. "The call has been given. The Shadowatchers are needed."

      It again took moments before Kamerov grasped what he had been told. "Are you serious?"

      Harrington only nodded absently.

      "But- but the Shadowatchers haven't been called upon for ten millenia! We're part of the Imperial Guard now! We can't just leave!"

      "We can, and we will, Alexi. We have been waiting for the call for one hundred generations, we cannot ignore it."

      Kamerov signed resigningly. "I know, sir. To tell you the truth, sir, I'm afraid. Mostly afraid of the Imperium."

      "You'd be a damn liar to tell me otherwise, Alexi. And I can give you no immediate comfort in our quest, except that it is worth dying for." He sat back behind his desk. "And people will die."

      "At least they will die knowing it was for a cause they believe in," offered Kamerov.

      "The irony of that, Alexi, is that no matter what side that man may be on, it will probably be true. Our people have only ever faced a challenge of this magnitude once before, we succeeded, but just barely. Let us hope that fortune favours the foolish this time."

      He picked up the comm. unit. The officer outside answered. "Lieutenant, get me the recording of that last transmission. And also connect me with Admiral Tokugawa aboard the /Redoubtable/."

-------------------------------------

Imperial Navy Dockyards AVL235-T441P (Corona Station), Minos Corva, Tellaris System

      Admiral Tokugawa was acutely aware of the persistent vibrations under his feet and the ever-present hum of the Luna-class Cruiser around him. Even after his countless years aboard various spaceships, he never stopped feeling it. At first, it had been an annoyance, but after a few years, one must accept it as a cost of living on a starship, or risk going insane. As such, it didn't bother Admiral Tokugawa at all, but he had not forgotten it. Everything about his environment reminded him that he was onboard a spacecraft, with the deadly vacuum a mere bulkhead away.

      The walls were a dark metal grey throughout the ship, except in the officer's compartments, where they were usually panelled, upholstered, or at least painted rich, regal colours. His quarters were one such room.

      The decorum of the room quite literally matched those suitable for a man of his rank and position. The bulkheads were covered in detailed wood panelling, and the desk was also made of wood. But while the desk was a perfect replica of a hand-carved 'Flourentine', circa 22nd century, the panelling was a part of the ship, and was simply painted and textured aluminium sheeting.

      Unlike Harrington, Tokugawa's family had not carried half their history with them to Minos Corva. All he had now, after so long away from his family's birthplace, was a few diaries, books, and a Katana which bore his family name. But he was in no way ignorant of his history. His family, like Harrington's had fought in Earth's World War Two, but where the Harringtons gained honour, the Tokugawa clan had been disgraced.

      Of course, all that was a long time ago, and Harrington had no part in his family's shame. And besides, the Tokugawa clan had long since reclaimed their honour by helping Minos Corva when it had been in the most dire of circumstances.

      Admiral Tokugawa was fiercely proud of his Japanese heritage, and surrounded himself with many things Japanese in taste. Though, it was indeed hard to find the Japanese culture. Indeed Harrington had discovered that about his own British heritage. As the domain of man had expanded, so had the distances from home. Planets, as a whole, tended to be rather homogenous in cultural make-up.

      For instance, on Minos Corva, there was hardly a person that knew what a Bonsai Tree was. And indeed, the 'Bonsai Tree' that Admiral Tokugawa now tended to, was not a Bonsai Tree at all, but a plant native to Minos Corva.

      It bewildered many of his subordinate officers how he could spend all evening carefully trimming the small plant. He had simply explained "it as a spiritual activity that hones the focus of one's mind, and extends the patience of one's heart". That explanation, however accurate, only succeeded in getting him a none-to-comfortable look from the /Redoubtable/'s Commissar. With the way they acted, the admiral wondered if any of them had lives outside of the imperial doctrine.

      Tokugawa had been engrossed in the care of his psuedo-bonsai tree for several hours straight, when he was interrupted by the insessant call of his communicator. He activated the small device pinned to his collar. "Tokugawa here."

      "Admiral, we are receiving a communication from an unknown source. It is tagged for you, but there is no originating tag. What shall I do?"

      "Put it through, Lieutenant."

      "Yes, Admiral."

      There was brief static in the room, then silence. "This is Admiral Tokugawa, commander of the Imperial Cruiser /Redoubtable/. Who am I speaking to?" he asked.

      There was no answer for a moment. "/The Shadows Call/," was the slow whispered reply. "The time has come. You are summoned. The call is given. Go to the planet Heram in the Vertolli System./" Then the line went dead.

      The admiral was stunned. /The Shadows Call?/ he thought. /After all this time, they finally need us again./

      Numerous things raced about his mind. He though about the quest, his men, the Imperium. And all these things would indeed need to be further evaluated. However, a small smile crept on to his face. "Finally, the Shadowatchers are needed again."

      Tokugawa opened a channel to the bridge. "Captain Ross, could you please come to my quarters, it's urgent."

      "Right away, sir."

      "Sir," the voice was that of the 2nd Officer, "we're recieving another transmission."

      "Does this one have an origin tag?" he asked.

      There was a pause as the officer checked. "Yes, Admiral, it is from General Harrington. This signal is definately from Venerable Base. All the codes check out, sir."

      "Fine, put it though, please."

      "Yes, Admiral."

      Just then, there was a knock on the door. "Come!"

      The door opened, and a middle-aged caucasian man with a beard stepped in. "Admiral, you wanted to see me?"

      "Indeed. I-." he was interrupted by the comm. line becoming active.

      "Matsu? It's James," the voice of General Harrington announced. "You might not believe this but-."

      "Yes," he interjected, "I already know."

      "Then you got the signal as well."

      "What signal?" asked a confused Captain Ross. "Does this have to do with the strange communication, Admiral?"

      "Yes, it does, Nathan," answered Tokugawa. "The Shadowatchers have been called for."

      At this, the captain stiffened. "I see. I take it we are to heed the call?"

      "It has been quite a long time, but yes I believe so. James?"

      "I, for one, had full intention of following their wishes. The debt must be repaid."

      At this Tokugawa nodded, then added, "that's right, James."

      Captain Ross nodded. "Then what of Naval Commissar Steinbech?"

      "What about him, James?" Tokugawa asked Harrington for his opinion. "What are we to do with our Imperial watchers?"

      "Well, we have several options when it comes to getting rid of them," responded Harrington. "I find it highly unlikely that they would wish to come with us."

      "Very highly unlikely, James. They are not part of the Circle." The admiral spoke of the association of all those who would heed the call.

      "Kamerov is very much in favor of tying them naked to trees out in the forest," Harrington said, mirth in his voice.

      At this, all officers laughed.

      "Actually," Ross said, "that gives me an idea."

-------------------------------------

      The mood was grim as Horandrin and Daleon walked through the corridors of the fortress. One glance at them was enough to see that they were walking with determination in their eyes and quickness in their feet. As they walked down the hallways, overhead lamps would catch their figures for fleeting moments, highlighting them with a brillant glint of polished blue and gold armour. But they trotted at such a pace that as soon as they stepped into the light, they were cast back into the darkness just as quickly, only their eyes shining through the shadows.

      Finally they arrived at their destination. The place of the 'trouble' as Daleon has so specifically described. The room they stood in front of was marked 'Storage C-12'.

      Daleon knocked on the plain steel door in a very specific manner. Obviously, those inside wanted to know just who was requesting admittance.

      Horandrin wondered, though, who would knock on a door leading to a storage closet in the first place?

      The sound of locks being unlatched preluded the opening of the heavy metal door.

      The scene inside made Horandrin wish he hadn't come. Daleon was right, it WAS trouble.

      In the middle of the room, flanked by two marines, was another marine almost comically tied up and bound to a chair. His eyes were covered by a makeshift blindfold, and his vocalizer was covered by  blindfold/gad-like cover to surpress his protests. Another marine lay still on the floor, a large chunk cleaved from the upper torso, taking the upper chest and head from the armour that was all that was left of the unfortunate Thousand Son. The armour was, of course, empty, save for the trace of dust that lined the inside. That marine would never rise again.

      Horandrin, at the moment, didn't know whether to rage, sigh, groan, or cry. Or perhaps even laugh at the obsurd spectacle of a bound and gagged chaos marine. He settled on a groan. "I cannot believe this is happening," he said shaking his head in defeat. "Nothing is ever as easy at it seems," he said to himself. He calmed himself with a few techniques learned from a long deceased wise man. Perhaps he shouldn't have killed him, he'd probably know what to do. "What happened here?"

      Daleon now explained the situation with more detail. "A few of our men were talking a bit too freely, it seems. They were confronted, and... well, the results are obvious."

      Horandrin thought about the implications of this occurance. They were running out of time. They had to leave, and soon. If not, their hope would soon die, just as they would. "Does anyone else know of this?"

      "Not yet. But that will undoubtably change quickly. We must leave this planet, Horandrin. We must leave Heram, before we never leave."

      "Master Horandrin, what should we do with him?" asked one of the guards.

      A silence stretched for a moment until Horandrin finally answered. "Just make sure he doesn't escape."

      "If he does?"

      "Shoot him."

----------------------

Well it seems that this story is coming along nicely. Might be losing the more action oriented readers. I'm considering revising the genre info since it has evolved into something different. BTW, it should be obvious that the Thousand Sons that are following Horandrin are no longer like the typical Chaos Marine. Also, with the inclusion of the Imperial battlefleet I am going into yet more uncharted territory.


	6. Slight of Hand

In the Eyes of Men

by FalconWind

Chapter 6

"Slight of Hand"

      The forests of Minos Corva's northern hemisphere all looked the same to Commissar Branch. He didn't appreciate it's natural beauty as the others did, but then, he wasn't native of the planet.

      "This is ridiculous," he said to himself. He had been wandering for thirty minutes trying to find Commissar Steinbech.

      He had been sent a coded message from his planetside counterpart telling him to meet at these coordinates. Steinbech had said that the meeting was of utmost importance, and absolute secrecy was required.

      The Atlas transport, a common design on Minos Corva, had lifted off after dropping him in the wilderness. Steinbech had said that they would both be returning to the /Redoubtable/.

      "Commissar Branch!"

      Branch jumped and spun around. It was Steinbech. "Where have you been? I come down here, and you're nowhere to be seen!"

      "I apologize for keeping you waiting."

      He nodded, and waited for the other commissar to get to the point.

      A moment of silence stretched for much too long.

      "Well?" they both said simultaneously.

      "'Well' what?" said Steinbech defensively.

      "What are you talking about, you idiot? You're the one who call me here!"

      At this, Steinbech was taken aback. "I did no such thing! You called me, or don't you remember?"

      "I did not!" yelled Branch. "I got a message from you telling me to meet you here in private, and that you had information that was of the utmost importance. You then proceeded to insist that I return with you to the /Redoubtable/ for our safety!"

      "Impossible!"

      "I don't see how," replied the other, missing Steinbech's meaning.

      "I received a message nearly identical to that. Except it was from you, and it insisted that we go to Venerable Base."

      "What? Impossible!"

      "These woods sure do echo, don't they?" he replied, his patience thinning. "We have obviously been tricked. But by whom, and to what end? I have no enemies aboard the /Redoubtable/, I know this much. You, I scarcely have to guess."

      "How dare you!"

      "Shut up, Branch! I hold three years seniority over you! And frankly, you are getting on my nerves already!" Steinbech forced himself to calm, despite Branch's glare. "Now, we must get back to our posts, and find out what the hell is going on!"

      Steinbech activated his collar communicator, which was styled to look like an embroidered collar-badge. "This is Commissar Steinbech calling /Redoubtable/." There was no answer. "I say again, this is Commissar Steinbech calling /Redoubtable/, please respond." Still, no answer was received.

      He cast his puzzled and worried look at Branch, who pressed his wristcomm. "This is Commissar Branch to Venerable Base, come in." There was no answer. He repeated his call several times, and so did Steinbech.

      "There is something deeply wrong," concluded Steinbech.

      "You don't say?" he replied sarcastically.

      "Shut up. There is little we can do about the fleet, but Venerable is only 10 miles from here, if I'm not mistaken."

      The man crossed his arms. "Surely, you don't expect me to walk all the way there!"

      "No, I expect you to complain like an old woman. But unless you happen to have an inflatable landspeeder up your ass, I suggest you start moving." And with that, Steinbeech started to walk in the direction of the fortress, not really caring if Branch was following or not.

      It was many hours before they finally reached the walls of the huge garrison. Stienbech's feet ached, and he surmised that living on a warship had spoiled his marching ability. Branch, for all his complaining, seemed to fair better.

      Branch input his security clearance into the automated gate, and the door opened. The outer base grounds were vacant. No tranports, no landspeeders, no men on drills. Nothing. They instantly knew something was amiss and proceeded with laspistols drawn.

      A further survey of the base revealed the unsettling truth. The entire garrison compound that was Venerable Base, a military installation of 500,000 troops, officers, and thousands of armoured vehicles and artillery pieces, was deserted. The base was literally vacant, the Headquarters of the entire Minos Corva military was as if it had never been occupied. Vehicles were gone, supplies were gone, weapons, ammunition, even personal affects were taken.

      There was no sign of struggle or carnage. It was as if everyone had just picked up and left. Even the Imperial Flag had been lowered, folded and placed neatly at the foot of the flag pole. The only sign of life remaining was a single mug of coffee in the cafeteria, now cold.

      As the two commissars walked along the eeriely vacant halls, they stopped at the daily message board. It too was vacant except for a single message tacked to the wall. Steinbech read it aloud.

      "Dear Steinbech and Branch. We regret the cruel trick we played on you, and hope you did not suffer too much from the walk back. Last week we received a message from a very important person, who asked for our help. Our entire planet and us especially, owe him a great, ancient debt, and it must be repaid, no matter the cost. We cannot speak of the nature of this debt, for you would not understand, and we cannot speak of the nature of our mission, for we ourselves do not know it. This action is considered desertion of the highest degree, and perhaps even heresy. But I can assure you, as honestly as I and Admiral Tokugawa have commanded you for all these years, our mission is just, noble, and good. The imperium will see us as traitors, but hopefully the Emperor will see we mean no harm to mankind. Quite the contrary. So you see why we couldn't bring you along. I will have you know that you performed your duties with honour and convicton, and any commander would grudgingly admit to welcome your services. Do not feel responsible, and don't let them tell you otherwise. This action was one hundred generations in the making, and no amount of commissars can fight that. In the garage, you will find a landspeeder and a few days rations and supplies, which should be enough to get you to the next city. Also, all your personal effects are there as well. You are fine officers whom I regret to have to leave behind. But it is your fine qualities as Commissars that make it so. The combined forces of the reconstituted Shadowatchers, formerly the Minos Corva Armed Forces, bid you farewell and good luck in the rest of your lives. And we hope for the day we will be able to meet you as friends once again. I leave you with a quote by Alfred Lord Tennyson. 'For I dipt into the future, far as human eye could see, saw the vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be.' Signed humblely, the Honourable Grand General James Harrington the First, and the Honourable Fleet Admiral Matsu Tokugawa." Steinbech read the time stamp; the message was only six hours old.

      For what seemed like hours more, the two commissars contemplated General Harrington's words. Trying to imagine what had just happened not six hours ago.

      Branch was the first to speak. "A shame. He was a good commander."

      After a moment, Steinbech replied. "No, he is still a good commander."

      "How can you say that? He's deserted his post, his duty, and the Emperor!"

      "He deserted his post, yes. But he still strike me as a man worthy of the utmost respect."

      "More so than the Emperor?" asked Branch, dangerously.

      At this, Steinbech smiled slightly and shrugged. "I have a feeling we may find out one day."

------------------------

      Onboard the /Redoubtable/, and throughout the rest of the fleet, there was an irrational tenseness prevailent among all the men. The irrational tenseness was a result of the somewhat irrational action they were all willingly involved in. No one had ever managed to get such a large portion of a world's forces to willingly abandon their posts, until now.

      But then, there were no other men like Harrington and Tokugawa. They were best of friends for all their lives, and were, in many ways, simliar. They were firm believers that actions speak louder that words. But unlike other commanders, they didn't use big actions, instead they preferred a multitude of smaller ones.

      For example, an Imperial Commander might threaten to kill a man who refuses orders, but not Harrington or Tokugawa. They would find a way to get the man to do it, but without and spoken, explicit threat. Even a stern, unwavering stare was enough. The best part of their command style was, after all is said and done, the men don't feel mistreated.

      That was part of why so many men volunteered to go. There was still quite a few troops left on Minos Corva, but most had elected to partake in the mass exodus that had been a hurried week in planning. It had been frantic, but Minos Corva's troops were highly mobile, compared to typical Imperial Guard forces.

      The second part was, 99% of the troops were born on Minos Corva, and they knew the Legend of the Shadow. But to most people, the Legend of the Shadow, was just that; a legend, and nothing more. Nothing more than a common fairy tale.

      When the Imperium had stumbled upon Minos Corva, the Inquisition had been alarmed by this story. But it had been quickly dismissed because not a single person believed for a second that it held any truth whatsoever.

      But they were wrong. Two people knew the truth; that the Legend was fact. And as the one hundredth generation since the Legend, they knew that they would be called upon in their lifetimes. Thus, they rose through the ranks of the Imperial Guard, and took it upon themselves to spread the truth throughout the troops under their charge. They created, in effect, a Traito Guard within the world's forces. But they were still loyal to the Imperium, so no one knew they existed.

      Of course, if any one of the heard someone call them Traitor Guard, as they all knew they would sooner or later, they would cringe.

      For in their minds, they weren't turning against the Imperium, but rather just leaving.

      Harrington, as well as Tokugawa, hoped that the Imperium would not force them into a battle. It was a somewhat distant hope, but still, there was no harm in hoping. Harrington knew that they would defend themselves, that went without saying. But they would not repent either, because there is nothing to repent for.

      "Almost surreal, isn't it?" asked Admiral Tokugawa.

      Harrington, who had been in deep thought, nodded. "It's hard to believe. I feel like a child sneaking out of his house."

      "Everyone is very tense aren't they?"

      "They'll be fine. I'll even get Kamerov to start circling the order to calm down. Just tell them to take it easy because nothing's going to happen."

      "Yet," Tokugawa added.

      Harrington gave him a sideways glance. "Little late to become a pessimist now, Matsu."

      "Optimism is all good and fine, but one has to be grounded in reality as well," replied the admiral.

      "You don't need to convince me of that. I'm well grounded, thank you." He turned to the watchful captain. "Captain Ross, how long until our destination?"

      The Captain conversed with the Navigator. "Not long, sir." While General Harrington didn't have any direct control of the Captain, Ross obliged him. "The Vertolli System isn't far, astronomically speaking. It shouldn't take us more than few days."

      "Good."

--------------------------

Yay!!! I'm loving writing this!! Woo hoo! It seems this will end up a fairly large story. Oh, and I guess the title of this chapter sorta makes one think it will be about Horandrin. This isn't a trick, it's just I wanted to use the title.

DarkMoonWolf: Oh, how I love reading your reviews! Thanks for the encouragement! I always write for my own enjoyment, but part of my enjoyment comes from other enjoying it as well. Oh, by the way, I haven't forgotten about your LotR/WH40K crossover! Come on, I'm dying for more!

darth: what an original name! Just kidding. Thanks so much, for reviewing! You'll find out soon enough!

Lord Dante: Wow! That's awesome! Thanks so much for saying so!

Belated Greetings - I'm making these chapters like three in advance, so I never thought about replying until now.

Gunboat: Oh, well. Kay sera sera, guess you could consider it AU now then :P If you want.

mecha ghost: Thanks!

Graham The Mighty: Yeah, i thought so too! :P

Chaos Dreadnought (too lazy to sign in): Yeah, a minor typo. Glad to see you're liking it.

To all: Action finally coming up next! :P


	7. More Voices

In the Eyes of Men

by FalconWind

Chapter Seven

"More Voices"

      Horandrin was pondering what the voice had meant. "Wait three days for them," he repeated. He didn't know what that was supposed to mean. /Wait for who?/ he asked himself.

      /Who am I supposed to wait for?/ Horandrin hated when people said things without context. It was somewhat more irritating to Horandrin, for the fact that whomever was communicating with him had the power to project his messages, but not the common sense to make his messages clear. Horandrin could only assume that it was on purpose, and that was even more irritating.

      Horandrin hoped that his assumption of what the voice had meant was correct. Otherwise, they were all digging their own graves.

      There was a knock on his door. "Come," he said, allowing Sergeant Braxton into his quarters.

      Braxton entered, and bowed. "Master Horandrin, the men are ready. I have been assured that we will have more than enough transportation for our departure."

      "You've been assured?"

      "I'm not stupid, sir. I inspected the vehicles and made sure they were not to be used for the entire week. We can't afford to take chances."

      "Good work, sergeant. What of Daleon's progress?"

      He shrugged. "He has not reported anything to me, sir. I'd assume he's still working on it."

      Horandrin nodded. "Please tell the men that it will not be more than a few days."

      At this, Braxton was surprised. "I was under the impression that we were to leave tomorrow."

      "Something has come up. I can't elaborate. But believe me, Sergeant, in three days we will leave."

      "But we've been-."

      "Three days, sergeant." Horandrin stood and sighed. "I know that this has seemed to drag out for the longest time. But three days is the schedule. If not by that time, then I'll relinquish this endeavor to someone else. Daleon, or even, perhaps you."

      Horandrin considered Horandrin's words. "I don't think that will be necessary, sir. I'll convey this to the troops."

      "You may go."

      Braxton did so.

      Horandrin had suggested that Daleon delve deeper into the inner workings of the Light of Revelation. It had become apparent that the spell had a more active role in the epiphanies of his men. Daleon was scrutinizing it line by line, but he too was certain that the spell had an inherant mind-altering ability.

      Horandrin thought that he would feel outraged, but, to his surprise, he was indifferent. In fact, he was still glad, despite the dishonest means that may, or may not have contributed to his "conversion".

      It was late in the evening when Daleon finally returned with results.

      "Horandrin, I have no idea who, or what, could have made this spell," he started off.

      "What do you mean?" Horandrin asked, puzzled.

      Daleon, mentally drained, sighed wearily. "I fancy myself an accomplished sorceror, Horandrin, and many other will tell you the same, but this spell is beyond me. The casting is simple, too simple, in fact. But if your look at how complex and extensive the spell is... it is mind boggling!"

      "A well crafted spell is not uncommon."

      Daleon laughed, almost mockingly. "Believe me Horandrin. There is not a man or creature alive that could have crafted this enchantation. I tell you this without hyperbole."

      "So can you enlighten me as to it's workings?"

      "I can tell you how it worked on me." Daleon sat down into the couch. "I was very careful as I mapped out the spell's structure, but that yielded little in the way of results. I decided to cast the spell again."

      "And."

      "And, I think you should do so as well."

      "Is that it?" Horandrin said disappointed. It wasn't the definative answer that he'd been hoping.

      "It is difficult to explain, Horandrin. The best way for you to know, is to talk to yourself again." Daleon got up. "Trust me." He turned and exited the room. It was then that Horandrin noticed the ancient book that sat in Daleon's seat.

      He picked it up, and started to read.

-------------------

      The sensation was of being seperated from one's body. The feeling past quickly, and he stood on the top of a familiar hill.

      Reaching up to his face, his hand touched a hard mask. Looking at his hand now, he realized, to his surprise, that it was an armored gauntlet.

      "What is this? Why am I..."

      "It seems," came a voice from behind, "that we've switched bodies. In a sense."

      Horandrn turned to face the familiar voice. His unarmored self greeted him. "This was unexpected. Why have I appeared as the old Horandrin?"

      "You're the sorceror."

      "But, I'm not. I mean, I am supposed to be the good Horandrin. I'm supposed to look like you."

      The man raised an eyebrow. "Did you ever think that you /are/ the good Horandrin?"

      Now it was the chaos Horandrin's turn to give 'the eyebrow' or he would have if he could. "What do you mean?"

      The man spotted a large rock and sat on it, gesturing for Horandrin to do the same. The other Horandrin did so. "Horandrin, things have changed in you, in us."

      "Such as?"

      The other Horandrin smiled. "Such as everything. The last time we met, you hadn't made the decision yet. Now, in a way, I'm the same counterpart that you met last time. But," he gestured at his body, "in some ways, I'm not."

      "What do you mean?"

      "Think about it, Horandrin. The first time, I was your goodness, your humanity, but I was in your body. You were the Thousand Son in the human body... Actually, I think I just figured it out."

      "Make up your mind, Horandrin," he said, not realizing the irony of that expression in this circumstance.

      "I don't think we switched bodies. Rather, I think you became me. Instead of you keeping the human body and becoming more human of mind, you simply became the human mind in the chaos power armor... Which means I'm really you." There was a long silence. "Did that make sense?"

      "Maybe. But, I believe I understand. We switched personalities, and acheived the same effect. Because... I could never have that body... my body back. As I am now, in my mind, is how I am in the world."

      "I suspect eventually, I'll cease to exist, and you will be the only one of us. Reality and fantasy sometimes co-exist. At one time, something is a metaphor, and the next time, it's a literal representation. I'm glad I don't have to do this often. I think I have a head ache."

      "But how is that possible, as we are inside my head."

      "Look, don't start."

      Horandrin chuckled. "Very well. But I can't say I like the prospect of losing you."

      He smiled. "Don't worry. We're one in the same. If I go, it's just because we've become one."

      Horandrin nodded. "You speak wisely."

      "Must be inherited."

      The two spoke for hours, it seemed. They conversed about all manner of things, diving into their memories, remembering good times and bad.

      "I guess you better be going, I hear something trying to wake you."

      "Yes. I will see you again," he said as they embraced in a brotherly handshake-hug.

      "Perhaps not," replied the other.

-----------------

      Horandrin returned to consciouness and was instantly aware of the loud noise. It was a heavy pounding on his door. It wasn't a hostile banging, for it came in short bursts indicative of someone knocking.

      Picking himself off the couch, he made his way to the door. Strange, he didn't remember laying down on the couch.

      He opened the door. It was Daleon. "Horandrin, I see you're finally awake."

      "How long was I unconscious?"

      "Nearly three days."

      "Three days?" Horandrin reflected that it had only seemed like hours, but then he remembered that dreams often only lasted a few minutes, but would take an entire night in the real world. He hadn't slept in so many years, he'd forgotten. "Then I suppose it is time to leave."

      "Yes."

      /Yes. Leave, now! Go, they are coming soon! Join them! They will help you!/

      /Shut up already! I do not need you constantly barking orders into my head!/

      He shook his head. "Then let us go." Horandrin turned to grab a large bag of books. "Destiny awaits."

-------------------------


	8. Exodus

In the Eyes of Men

by FalconWind

Chapter Eight

"Exodus"

      Captain Ross kept his watchful eyes on the bridge crew, as he usually did. Sitting in the command chair, he could see all the stations and officers who operated the giant behemoth of a vessel.

      Isolated from the rest of the officers was the navigator, who guided them through the perilous warp. Every single man aboard the /Redoubtable/ had their life held in the hands of that man. As they were in warp, the navigator had control of the entire ship. If he needed the ship to go left, it went left, go right, it went right. If he advised caution, they became cautious. If he said jump, they'd probably jump.

      If there was one thing that Captain Ross had learned, it was to trust your navigator. After all, they were the only ones able to pilot through the warp, and if you couldn't trust them, you'd go mad with worry.

      Thus, the entire crew was focused on one task: Do what the navigator orders, and don't disturb him.

      Ross trusted Ba'al, but that was not to say that he didn't worry about someone causing him to mess up. So far Ba'al had been flawless in his performance for the past seven years, and neither Ross, nor Admiral Tokugawa saw any reason to doubt his abilities.

      /Captain,/ said Ba'al, /we are approaching the Vertolli System./

      Though Ross trusted the mutant as a pilot, he still hated his insistence to utilize his powers in communicating. But then, of course, Ba'al could hardly speak; a limitation of a physical deformity.

      "Very good. Lieutenant Jeeron, inform the admiral and general."

      "Aye, sir."

      A few minutes later, Tokugawa and Harrington were on the bridge.

      "Good timing, sirs," Ross commented as the deck shifted under them and the stars suddenly returned outside the bridge window.

      "Sir," announced the communications officer, "we are receiving a signal, source: unknown."

      "With the lack of an astropath, it must be from one of the planets," said Harrington.

      "Put it on the speaker," ordered Tokugawa.

      "Make room for unusual allies," said a distant, whispered voice over the channel.

      It was then that Ba'al stood abruptly from his seat. He looked at the flag officers. /Sirs, I believe the sender of the message is communicating with me./

      "No, I think that was for all of us," said Harrington.

      "I think he means telepathically," corrected Ross.

      /I do. He says that there will be a number of Space Marine Thunderhawks taking off from Heram shortly, and that we should render assistance./

      "Is that all?"

      /Yes. I believe so./ Ba'al rubbed his head with a three-fingered hand. /If I may, I am exhausted, and wish to retire to my quarters./

      "You may." He turned to the helmsman. "Helm, set a course for Heram, maximum speed. Signal the rest of the fleet to follow in standard patrol formation."

      "Admiral," said Ross, "permission to launch a squadron of fighters to reconnoiter the area."

      "Granted, captain."

------------------------------

      Horandrin met Daleon on the way to the hanger. "How goes the rest of the troops?"

      "Well, Horandrin. There has been surprisingly little trouble."

      "I find that hard to believe," commented Braxton, who was also walking with them. "I suggest we proceed with caution."

      "Noted, sergeant."

      Entering the cavernous hanger, it quickly became apparent that there was NO WAY that their operation could be overlooked or missed.

      "We must have alerted someone by now. I want everyone to be prepared for battle," ordered Horandrin.

      "They already are, sir," informed Braxton.

      A deafening boom echoed throughout the hanger as a few Thousand Sons were flung into the air.

      Horandrin turned to face the sound, and saw, to his horror, more Thousand Sons pouring in through a side door. These were not his troops.

      "I need five squads to battle! The rest, get to the Thunderhawks!" Horandrin drew his bolt pistol and squeezed off several bursts into the massed attackers, felling but a few.

      The sound of hundreds of bolters and various other weapons firing was deafening, and caused the room around him to seem to shake. The floor rocked every time a Krak grenade was used.

      Horandrin turned to Daleon, as he fired into the group. "Go with the rest, we will follow you in the last Thunderhawk!"

      "But Horandrin, you-"

      Horandrin cut him off by shoving him towards the open ramp of the closest transport. "Just go!"

      A few bullets ricocheted off Horandrin's back, and he turned to return the favor.

      The ramp closed, even as Daleon delivered yet more wrath upon the enemy at the last moment.

      Finally closed, Horandrin rallied the remaining troops, as they entered close combat.

      Battle was everywhere. Horandrin emptied his pistol into the crowd of oncoming loyalists, downing the entire front row. They advanced too quickly for him to reload, he threw the empty weapon hard at the closest marine, and drew his sword, power crackling through the blade and the air around it.

      Bolter fire erupted from the group, and Horandrin moved his blade with supernatural swiftness, deflecting many of the rounds as he charged forward.

      He lunged, sinking the sword deeply into the first marine, and then spinning, he withdrew the weapon and sliced another's head off with ease.

      Shrugging off a blow by a bayonet, he cleaved another in two with a great swing, then punched a marine in the face with a hook, spinning him. Grabbing him from behind, he impaled him on the sword, and using him as a shield made his way back towards the last Thunderhawk.

      "Men, we are leaving!" Horandrin announced to the others, still engaged in combat.

      Horandrin, walking backwards, struck a hard metal surface from behind. He turned, expecting it to be the transport. But was, instead, confronted by the sight of a towering Dreadnought.

      "Calderon!"

      The massive dreadnought, impervious to the fire being directed towards them both, seemed to regard the Sorcerer.

      "I will provide cover." With that, the Dreadnought picked up the bewildered sorcerer in both hands, turned on its axis 180 degree and set him down.

      Turning back towards the group, Calderon unleashed both storm bolters on his forearms, instantly shrinking back the group with a withering hail of explosive rounds.

      The others had little trouble getting into the transport, and Calderon, backed perfectly into the open ramp, just barely large enough to accommodate him. The ramp closed just as another Dreadnought came into view for a brief moment.

      Horandrin re-sheathed his sword. The bullets could still be heard striking the armoured hull. The craft lurched, signifying flight. "Why Calderon?"

      The Dreadnought paused. "I am old, Horandrin, much older than you." was the only answer he gave them.

------------------------------

      A console beeped loudly and drew the attention of a Captain Ross, Admiral Tokugawa, and General Harrington.

      "What is it, lieutenant?" asked Ross.

      "Sir, we have about two dozen Thunderhawks leaving the planet Harem," answer the officer.

      "It appears our guests have arrived," commented Harrington.

      "I didn't expect that our guests would be Space Marines. After all, why would we be called to the aid of the Adeptus Astartes?"

      "I'm not sure if this is such a good idea," Captain Ross said, a frown on his face. "If they discover that we're here without orders, they're liable to execute us."

      "I hardly think that after one hundred generations of waiting, that we'd be called to our doom so obviously," said Harrington.

      Ross shrugged. "We are to the Gods, as flies are to wanton boys."

      Harrington couldn't help but smirk at the reference to Shakespeare. "True, Captain. But we aren't working for just any God."

      "Should we move in to rendezvous, then?" asked Ross.

      Admiral Tokugawa shook his head. "No, hold position. Let them come to us. Let's not rush head-long into this, we don't know the situation."

------------------------------

      Daleon looked over the shoulder of the Thunderhawk's pilot. The cockpit was extremely crowded, but nonetheless Daleon could see the instruments perfectly.

      "How is that possible? Not even the Emperor himself could have discovered the location of this base!" exclaimed Daleon.

      "Sir, all I know is that they are holding position just outside standard orbit. They have a small number of fighters running point, and are in standard Imperial patrol formation. The ships are definitely that of the Imperial Battlefleet."

      Daleon checked the read-outs for himself. "The number of ships is small, only a single battlegroup. The largest seems to only be a Luna-class cruiser. If this was an imperial operation, there would be many more."

      The radio suddenly crackled to life. "Daleon," it was Horandrin, "do you see the ships?"

      "Yes, Horandrin. What do we do?"

      There was a brief pause. "We will go to them."

      Daleon wasn't quite sure he'd heard right. "I apologise, Horandrin. But did you say 'go to them'?"

      "I did, Daleon. They are here for us."

      "But they are Imperial ships!" Daleon almost yelled into the radio.

      "I know," Horandrin replied calmly. "Trust me, Daleon. I wouldn't lead us so far to deliver us into the hands of the enemy."

      Daleon sighed. "You heard him," he said to the pilot, who nodded. "And try to fly non-threateningly." Though honestly, Daleon didn't know what that meant.

------------------------------

      Within the private chamber of the base's commander, a very powerful, very disappointed sorcerer stood on the abyss of complete and utter rage.

      "Fools! Imbeciles!" the Lord Sorcerer Kalmain screamed at the stoic Thousand Sons. "You let them escape! You let that traitor, Horandrin, and over 250 of your brethren escape!" His fist glowed a white-hot aura, as it smashed through a nearby wall. "And not only that, but the Ancient Calderon, as well! All because you idiots couldn't kill him!"

      "Lord Kalmain, he fought as I have never seen him," said the sorcerer Saivu. "Horandrin is a skilled sorcerer to be sure, but a Daemon Prince he is not. But I swear to you, he deflected my bullets as if they were pebbles flung at him by a child. And Calderon opened fire on my men, destroying many of them."

      Lord Kalmain glared at Saivu with barely contained hatred. "It that supposed to be an excuse?"

      "No, my Lord, an explanation."

      "Pity. Perhaps I would have spared you otherwise!" He struck with his glowing fist, striking the sorcerer square in the chest, ripping a gaping hole, and shattering the figure to fragments.

      Such shows of force were wasted on the group. "Get out of my sight," he ordered the rest of them.

      The door closed behind the retreating marines. "Oh, Horandrin," Kalmain said to himself, "how I anticipate making you suffer!"

----------------------

Oooohh! The plot thickens even more! Damn this story seems to have a mind of it's own! I'm just typing it up! I've never had this many characters in a story before! It's not even near the end yet!

I hope this doesn't get so complicated that I start contradicting myself! Oh, btw, Calderon is of the same design as Furioso (plus tzeentch decor), as you may have guessed.

Also a little fuzzy on the whole warp travel thing. Oh, and I now realize that I've consistently misspelled the word "sorcerer". Oh well.

A/N: Due to my inexperience with the fleet, and with some holes in my knowledge of the Horus Heresy, I was forced to make some revisions shortly after posting this chapter. If you are reading this, it is obvious, which version you have read.


	9. Visitation

In the Eyes of Men

by FalconWind

Chapter Nine

"Visitation"

      The command deck of the /Redoubtable/ was noticably busier. All the stations were manned, and the officers and crew were on alert status. Finally, they were actually doing something that they were used to.

      The bridge was buzzing with activity, but it was a professional, efficient buzz.

      "Captain, open hanger doors 1 through 4. Have Alpha Squadron escort the Thunderhawks in. Standard retrieval procedures," ordered Admiral Tokugawa.

      "Yes, Admiral," replied Captain Ross as he turned to relay the orders.

      General Harrington and Colonel Kamerov stood towards the back of the compartment, well out of the bridge crew's way.

      "Sir," said Kamerov, "are you certain it's a good idea to let them on board? I mean, they are bound to have a psyker."

      "Don't worry Alexi, we were told to pick them up, and we're going to pick them up. There's no arguing," responded the general. "Besides, it's a little late now."

      "Still, the idea of space marines on board is... unsettling," he said, shifting his weight visibly.

      "Would it help if you picked the 'greeting party'?"

      Kamerov managed a grin. "Not much, sir. But it would help."

      Harrington nodded. "I suppose you'll use Conrad then?"

      He cracked a smile, and spun on his heel, heading towards the turbolift.

      Harrington just shook his head and smirked. Straining his eyes, he could now see a series of stars move across the bridge's forward bulkhead. The stars were highlighted, and the image zoomed in, and was enhanced.

      And just as Harrington had thought, they were indeed the Thunderhawks.

      Only...

      He walked up to stand next to the admiral. "Matsu, those are..."

      "Yes," he said nodding, "far too old to be that of the Adeptus Astartes," he said grimly.

      Harrington chuckled humourlessly. "Or at least of the Adeptus Astartes of today. If I had to guess, I'd say those are pre-heresy."

      "Are you certain?"

      "I know my antiques, Matsu," he reminded him.

      Tokugawa sighed. "Captain Ross, put Point Defense Guns on stand-by, please."

      Captain Ross was confused, but only showed it for a split-second. "Yes, sir. Weapon Station, PD Guns on stand-by," he ordered.

      He approached the two officers. "Sir," said Ross quietly, "we aren't going to blow them up, are we?"

      Tokugawa clasped his hands behind his back. "Only if they flinch, Captain. Only if they flinch."

------------------------

      In the personnel section of the ship was where all the men were housed. They lived in conditions, on many occasions, compared to canned fish. Though, this was usually just an exaggerated belly-ache.

      The heavy metal door slid open with the scrape of years and the hiss of pneumatics. Colonel Kamerov stepped in and surveyed the area.

      The compartment had barren metal walls, and arranged in rows were bunk beds. This particular compartment, wedged between a heat-exchanger, and a generator, was only large enough for 50 troopers. Right now, it only held 10.

      The ten men, were enlisted, and while he was an officer, they didn't bother to salute or stand at attention. Familiarity allowed this breach of protocol. They did, however, stop what they were doing. Which was actually nothing at all.

      Kamerov thought they looked pathetic.

      "Thank heavens! A visitor!" yelled one of them.

      "Please, kind sir, word of the outside world!" yelled another.

      "Boredom is not a plague, stop acting like it is," said Kamerov, frowning.

      "You haven't experienced it here, sir," said Corporal Plank, a lanky caucasian man with short croped hair, and a cronic lopsided grin.

      "I've got a mission for you boys. Where's Sergeant Major Conrad?" he asked looking around him.

      "Where else?" he said pointing to a lump under a bedsheet.

      "I swear that man is nocturnal," commented Kamerov as he walked over. He kicked the bed. "Get up Sergeant!"

      "MMMmmm.... go away."

      Kamerov sighed. "I need your unit for a special mission."

      "MMmmmm... but Dad, every mission is special," he groaned sleepily.

      "Dammit, we don't have time for this! Now, get the hell up!" yelled the colonel. He grabbed the blanket and yanked it away. Underneath, was a Sergeant Conrad, already dressed in Storm Trooper uniform, complete with utility belt, gasmask, and helmet.

      "Surprise!"

      Kamerov just blinked. The rest of them however, started laughing hysterically. Kamerov, who usually didn't go for jokes at his expense, had to surpress a laugh. It passed quickly for him

      "Alright, alright," he said trying to reimpose relative order. Then again, it wasn't like the Roving Guns were all that orderly to begin with. "Sergeant, this mission is extremely important."

      "Aren't they all?"

      Kamerov gave the non-commissioned officer a stern look.

      "Sorry, sir. Didn't know you meant it." He gestured the rest of the team over.

      Kamerov sometimes wished Conrad didn't take warfare so lightly. "Your mission is to greet our 'guests' in the main hanger. And, if necessary, to take them out.""

      Conrad nodded. "Who are they?"

      "Space Marines."

      An uncomfortable silence fell over the usually unruly bunch.

      Conrad, for once, had no witty reply. "How many?" he asked, now deadly serious.

      Kamerov shrugged. "I'm not sure, but as many as a dozen Thunderhawks can hold."

      Conrad's face grew even more grim, though one could not tell behind the mask. "And you expect me and my men to beat those kind of odds?"

      "Not really, no. But you're our best chance. We're not expecting a fight, but just in case, you will be there to keep them at bay while we jettison the section."

      "You can do that?" asked Private Milson, a rather pudgy explosives specialist.

      "Yes," Kamerov answered quickly. He turned back to Sergeant Conrad. "You can use an many men as you like, but as you and I both know, sometimes less is more."

      He nodded. "I guess I better pray for a peaceful first encounter then."

      "Pray to who?" Kamerov asked on a whim.

      Conrad chuckled. "Good point. I'll just cross my fingers then." I stood up off the bunk. "Okay, men, we've got a mission to do."

      They needed no further persuading to start throwing on their fatigues and strapping on their gear. They seemed to all subconsciouslly agree that the dark grey uniforms were appropriate for fighting inside a tin can.

      Kamerov could never get over the way the Roving Guns went from a unruly bunch of school kids to a professional, serious, and efficient Storm Trooper unit in a blink of an eye.

      "Colonel, I'd like permission to recruit Captain Ferson's unit. But I'd like to retain command of the operation," said Conrad.

      Kamerov nodded. "Granted, but he won't like that."

      The eye behind the gasmask's lense winked. "I know."

      Before he knew it the group was ready to leave, and they started filing out the door. Conrad saluted and went to join them.

---------------------------

      "Captain, we're receiving a transmission from the lead Thunderhawk. He's asking for whoever is in charge," reported the communications officer.

      General Harrington and Admiral Tokugawa exchanged glances. Did they mean in charge of the fleet, or in charge of the endeavor.

      The admiral gestured for Harrington to 'be his guest'.

      Harrington stepped forward, which wasn't really necessary. He nodded to the comm. officer, who opened the channel. "This is General James Harrington, commander of the Minos Corva Defense Force. To whom am I speaking?"

      There was a brief pause. "My name is Horandrin. I am the leader of this group."

      "Might I have your rank?" he inquired.

      There was another pause. "Librarian."

      Harrington chuckled dryly. "You mean, 'Sorceror', don't you?"

      A pause. "And if I do?"

      Harrington shrugged. Then rolling his eyes, realized there was no visual communication happening. "It is of little consequence, really. We have been ordered to pick you up, and render assistance. We shall do so."

      This time there was a fairly long pause.

      The general mused that he had thoroughly surprised the man on the other end. But then, could the general be so sure that the voice belonged to a what could still be considered a man? Chaos did strange and terrible things.

      "Very well," the voice said, "I am Horandrin, Sorceror of the Thousand Sons Legion. A mysterious entity told me that you would be here."

      "A mysterious being has also been directing our fleet, as well. We owe a great debt to him, and it must be repayed in full. We will render assistance regardless of who you are, because we have been told to do so. But that does not mean that we are lambs to the slaughter. We will defend ourselves," warned Harrington.

      "I understand. We do not wish to fight. I give you my word."

      "Thank you," said Harrington just before the channel closed. "Inform them to land first, then we will give the go ahead to proceed with the others."

      "Hmm... the word of a Chaos Sorceror," Tokugawa commented, "and of the Thousand Sons, no less."

      Harrington was well aware of the legion's reputation. "We don't have to trust him, only the fact that we would not be lead to our deaths so senselessly."

      The admiral grumbled.

      "Besides, our back-up plan will work, don't worry."

      "Either way, we will be in harms way, it seems."

      "We do have to greet them. I'm running the show, and you're the admiral of the fleet."

      The admiral grumbled.

------------------------------

      Conrad and his unit, plus twenty others from Captain Ferson's unit, entered the cavernous hanger. Conrad quickly became aware of how preciously little cover there was. The hanger was largely vacant, though several craft stood off to the side. He decided that was where he would make his stand should things get messy.

      Colonel Kamerov had told them that General Harrington and Admiral Tokugawa were coming down as well, despite Conrad's own objections. He didn't like having to worry about two flag officers' lives if everything fell apart. And it wasn't just because of their high rank, those two were the backbone of their whole insane quest.

      The defense of the hanger now proved harder than he realized. The hanger, in actuallity, as a huge airlock. Vehicles could pass in and out only when the outer doors were open, and thus the hanger was a complete vacuum. That being said, the only way that Conrad could have set-up beforehand would be if the entire team was wearing space suits; something they didn't have time for.

      Thus they now rushed the hanger just as the Thunderhawk had set down. The massive doors closed, and the bay repressurized instantly after with the rush of air.

      He ordered the bulk of his forces to take cover behind spacecraft and anything else they could find. His own team would be the ones out in the open.

      The large loading door that connected the hanger to the rest of the ship, itself an airlock, opened to reveal the two highest ranking officers onboard.

      The pair approached the transport, it's engines winding down. The transport seemed almost surreal, with it's opulent gold trim and almost opalescent blue lacquer.

      The two officers strode with confidence, though inside, they were incredibly anxious. Chaos and Imperium Forces had never, ever, before met outside of a battlefield. Not even so much as a civilized exchange of regards before a battle. The hate, fear, and animosity has thrived for centuries, and now, by the order of some unseen force, they were supposed to forget that.

      Harrington, of course, hated the huge disadvantage that mere men had against the forces of Chaos. Fighting Traiter Guard was one thing, Chaos Space Marines was a whole different story all together. Pit a single Space Marine of any allegiance against a Guardsman, the marine would win everytime. Perhaps five guardsman would give him trouble. Ten would have a good chance of winning. However, Chaos Space Marines, utilizing magic, and demons, are even more dangerous.

      He supposed he should be thankful that they aren't followers of Khorne. Could one consider Tzeentch to be the lesser of many evils? He wasn't a theologian, and indeed, such questions were better answered by Tokugawa, who was much more philosophical. But still, Harrington had heard some interesting theories, all of which were heretical, mind you.

      Harrington thought about his well stocked library, which broke so many censorship laws. Filled with books literally saved from the fire. He was certain that if Commissar Branch had taken the time to survey his collection, he would have fainted. This was not to say that he had many books that professed chaos. But when accidently misspelling the word "Emperor" was heresy, it wasn't hard to have a book labeled as such.

      He shook his head, he didn't need this distraction now, despite it's relevance.

      Sergeant Conrad, arguably the best trooper in the entire division, had his unit close, but slightly behind them.

      The Sergeant thumbed his rifle nervously. And stopped when he realized he was flicking the safety on and off. He frowned. He felt like a child taking a final exam. He was well aware that this was make or break time, possibly do or die. He'd never faced a space marine before, let alone a Chaos Space Marine. It was rare that he was nervous before a possible battle. Concerned, always. Alert, of course. But when he WAS nervous, he knew he was probably in trouble.

      The ramp of the Thunderhawk hissed loudly as the seal was broken. And with the whir of machinery, the ramp slowly lowered.

      "Time to welcome our visitors."

      The ramp clanked loudly on the deck, and revealed the massive hulk of a Dreadnought. Instantly, thoughts about the firepower it possessed, it's relative impunity, and how good of an initial boarding tool it would make raced through Harrington's head.

      Instantly, the air became charged with alarm, and a heightened sense of dread. If the Dreadnought decided to open fire, they were toast. It was very much like looking down the barrel of a loaded gun, or in this case, a howitzer.

      The large cyborg took up most of the width of the craft, but a figure managed to squeeze by and down the ramp.

      The Chaos Marine wore a white an blue robe over his armour, and carried a large sword with him. He looked significantly more impressive and regal than the two flag officers, despite the numerous decorations that adorned their uniforms.

      They regarded each other, Harrington noticed that he looked as though he'd been in a battle. The sorceror and the officers, the soldiers on each side sized each other up.

      The silence was painfully evident, and Harrington had to put a stop to it. "I am General Harrington, leader of this little group," he announced. "This is Admiral Tokugawa, commander of the Fleet."

      "I am Horandrin, Sorceror of the Thousand Sons. I am the leader of this... desertion, I suppose you could call it."

      "Desertion?" said the admiral out loud, echoing everyone's thoughts. "You're no longer in the service of Tzeentch?" Asked Tokugawa.

      Horandrn nodded. "That is correct."

      "Forgive me," said Tokugawa, "but your legion's reputation preceeds you. How, exactly, can we trust you?"

      "If you cannot trust me, then isn't it pointless to ask me?"

      "We need to know. I was simply interested in your opinion on the matter, truthful or otherwise. We must have trust, if we are to be in such close proximity," explained Tokugawa.

      "This is true," came a familiar, whispered voice. "In the mean time, you may trust me."

      They all turned to look at the dark figure that had suddenly appeared. The appearance was so sudden, and otherwise, so subtle, that it was as if he'd always been there, and that they had simply failed to notice him. The figured was dressed completely in flowing black robes, his face, totally concealed by the shadowy hood so that there may not have been a face at all. "After all, you've been doing so for quite some time."

---------------------------------------

Let me take this opportunity to announce Magnus Asblom, who has graciously accepted a position as consultant to this story! He will be indispensable in taking this fic further.

Decker: Tans hide? Hmm, yes I get your meaning. Perhaps it'll become darker later, but who knows. I don't.

sonicfish: Hey, thanks. And I too think plot is more important.

eshinseer: Thanks.

Ivan Alias: Wow, thanks for you great review! I too have always liked fics where bad guys are not so black and white.


	10. Lessons

In the Eyes of Men

by FalconWind

Chapter Ten

"Lessons"

      The dark figure approached the stunned group slowly, gracefully, almost as if he was gliding across the floor.

      "Hold it!" ordered Sergeant Conrad, who raised his Lasgun out of instinct and practice, rather than common sense. He quickly realized that if the being had the power to suddenly appear from out of nowhere, he was probably just annoying it.

      The being did stop, however. Though it was apparent the act was for Conrad's benefit. "Very well. Though I suggest you relax, sergeant. After all, if I did intend to attack, there is little any of you could do."

      To this Calderon and Horandrin took up fighting stances, announcing their formidable presence.

      "Oh, well, now. THEY can do something," he said rather comically. "But let me assure you, my friends, that I am not your enemy. If anything, I'm the greatest ally you could ever want!"

      "And just who are you, exactly?" asked Tokugawa, his hand on his popgun of a laspistol.

      "He's a god," answered Harrington in a voice certainly not befitting a man confronted by a God. He spoke with a small grin, and a sound of slight amusement.

      "Sharp as ever, I see, General."

      He bowed his head slightly, acknowledging the compliment. "This is our previously unseen voice. The legendary saviour of Minos Corva."

      Conrad was now dumbfounded, his gun was completely forgotten. /This was the Shadow? This was the being who saved his world because we asked nicely?/ "But it's only a legend." he said absently.

      The Shadow turned to face the wide-eyed Sergeant. "Don't be so naive, Conrad. The Chaos Gods are real, are they not? I'm as real as Tzeentch himself. But while his power is distant, mine is as close as can be."

      "You know my name."

      Conrad had the distinct impression that the Shadow was smiling at him, despite the fact that he could see nothing of a face or body. It was a smile of amusement. "I know everything you own shadow knows."

      Was he being theatrical, metaphorical, or literal? Everyone seemed to reflect on the implications. That anywhere a shadow existed, he existed.

      "But I digress," the dark figure continued. "I can assure you that there is no deception on Horandrin's part. As for my own part, I can only give you my word, and the names of all those among you that are traitors, or are having thoughts about treachery."

      He turned towards the pile of crates in which more guardsmen 'hid' behind. "Such as Captain Ferson over there."

      There was the sound of distant struggle and then the panicked shout of "GRENADE!"

      A cylindrical, red, object flew from the boxes and landed on the floor close to just about everyone.

      They all reacted as soldiers should. Some dived to the ground, while other's threw themselves into the armoured belly of the transport.

      Calderon reacted quickly, moving faster than his huge frame normally would like to, redlining servos and hydraulics, as he moved to divert the frag grenade's blast.

      But after many tense seconds, no explosion came. Most were brave enough to look.

      Calderon had been the only witness. For, as he moved to block the grenade, he had cast his shadow upon it. And before his optics, the grenade has sunk into the darkness like a stone in quicksand.

      "Where is it now?" Calderon asked the Shadow.

      "In the warp," he answered matter-of-factly. "Until such time as I summon it forth again."

      Sergeant Conrad, who'd somehow managed to fling himself into the Thunderhawk along with Horandrin, now tried to put as much distance between himself and the sorcerer without looking as such.

      They diverted their attention now to the struggling and pinned form of Captain Ferson, who swore and cursed loudly in between his imperial rhetoric. "YOU WILL BURN!!! ALL YOU TRAITORS! I knew you were not what you seemed, Harrington! I KNEW you were a heretic all along! And I was right! And you will all suffer for your treachery!"

      Harrington kept his cool, though it was obvious he was angry; mostly because someone had just tried to kill them.

      "I regret to inform you," the Shadow said, "that Captain Ferson is actually a spy."

      "A spy?" said Kamerov. "For whom?"

      "Isn't it obvious?" said the Shadow asked. "The Inquisition."

      If Harrington could have looked any more steadfast, he would have turned to stone. Turning himself into a virtual pillar of leadership and resolve was his only way of keeping down the dread and anxiety that now bubbled up from his stomach.

      He was almost afraid to ask. "Does that mean..."

      The Shadow nodded solemnly. "Yes."

      The hanger was impossibly silent, save for the struggling Captain. Conrad, who had heard many the distasteful story of the Inquisition, did not fully grasp the magnitude of trouble that had just been made public to them. But he did know that he'd drown if he were to throw up in his mask, unless he took it off. But that was something he did not want to do in public.

      Neither Horandrin nor Calderon had any more of a reason to dread the Inquisition more than they already did. Though they had long since turned their fear into hatred, he did realize the implications and that they had much more to fear than he. "You say you are from Minos Corva. That is only a few days from here. How long have you been renegade?"

      "Only as such time as it took us to get here," answered Tokugawa, who was still uneasy with Horandrin's presence. "Why?"

      "Conceivably, you could out-run the Inquisition to your planet."  

      "And do what? If we go back we're dead men!" said Harrington. "How could I have been so naive!? I thought we could pull this off! I knew this was going to be difficult, but I thought we could handle it. That I could handle it! Is my ego that big?"

      "General, you mustn't-"

      "Shut up, Kamerov! I'm an idiot. I have been waiting for this moment for so long that I didn't even stop to consider it. I've doomed us all to death! And for what? For what?"

      "James! Get a grip!" yelled Tokugawa as he shook the General by the shoulders. "You might not have thought it through, but we did! We realized the risks, and we went along with you in spite of them! We did it because we believed you. The stories, the legend of how Minos Corva was on the brink of destruction, and he," he pointed at the hooded figure, "saved us all! And we know that for him to call upon our debt, the stakes must be equally as high!"

      "The admiral is entirely correct. The stakes are immeasurably high. Harrington... James," the dark figure approached the general, who had fallen to his knees. He placed a gloved hand reassuringly on his shoulder. "You are one of my most loyal followers. I would not have called upon you if I did not know you could fulfill your duty."

      "But... Minos Corva... the Inquisition..." he stuttered.

      "All is taken care of, James." He helped the man to his feet. "Minos Corva is my world as well, I would not have it razed to the ground on account of you or I. The Circle is large, my friend. Much larger than even you had suspected."

      "But how?" he asked, baffled.

      "That is of no consequence," the Shadow said, dismissingly. "It has already been done. Minos Corva is safe from the Imperium. Now, I believe it's about time you let Horandrin's troops land. They're getting restless."

      Harrington blinked. Then looked at Horandrin, who stood with both feet planted, and his arms crossed over his breastplate. "Forgive me, I had forgotten!" he said with a mixture of sheepishness and near-humour. Harrington simply looked at Tokugawa, who nodded and proceeded to relay orders to the bridge.

      "I tend to distract people," he said in a monumental understatement. "You wish to know why I have summoned you to me. Harrington, Tokugawa, you know of the history between Minos Corva, and myself but you do not know the whole of it. Since the colonization of the planet so many millennia ago, Minos Corva has been besieged many times by many different foes. Civil wars, plagues, aliens and others have all been defeated upon Minos Corvan soil." he paused. "We have always prevailed."

      "We?" said Conrad.

      "Yes," the Shadow nodded. "I have always fought beside you. In the beginning, it was obvious. But as centuries passed, and the Imperium of Man rose from the ashes of civilization, I knew that to have my presence so publicly known, would spell disaster. The Imperium of Man is, after all, a theocratic dictatorship."

      Harrington knew that every man from Minos Corva knew what that meant. The Minos Corvan education system is among the most complete in the entire galaxy. Indeed, before the Imperium had come, the Historical Archives had been a veritable treasure trove of information. Now, it was all but empty, pillaged by the Technomagi of Mars, and expunged by the Inquisition. Harrington, of course, knew that a healthy underground of books and knowledge was present. He was, after all, the founder, and a firm believer in the adage, 'Information is power'.

      Harrington knew that the last thing the Imperium had expected was a modern society. Such was the reason they had built Corona Station; the technology base was already there.

      "Many times," the Shadow continued, "has allegiance been sworn to me, thus. You are all Shadowatchers by the mere virtue of being a native of Minos Corva. You have the same blood within you. The Circle is your birthright, and it has served you, more than I."

      "We were born into bondage," muttered Kamerov.

      "No, Colonel. When have I ever dictated you life? I only ask for you help now, under the direst of circumstances," he explained. "I never intended, nor do I now intend, to have you my servants. I always hoped that you would help me if I asked. I am the last vestige of the Gods of Light. I shall not lower myself to machinations, like those of the Chaos Gods."

      The group was silent in the presence of this new information. Thousands of questions piled on the tips of silent tongues. The Shadow had always been there, they now realized. Watching, waiting, for the time that they would be needed, and he would have to show himself again.

      "That explains them," said Horandrin finally. "Now, what of us? I do not like the prospect of exchanging one god for another."

      The hooded figure faced the Sorcerer. "I do not ask for your servitude, Horandrin. Tzeentch, or any other god of Chaos, I am not. If you wish to leave, that is entirely up to you. But I present you with an opportunity."

      "What opportunity would that be?" he said neutrally.

      The Shadow spread his arms. "To join the Circle. I promise not power, riches, pleasures, or glories."

      Horandrin almost chuckled, for it was obvious what he had to say. "What do you promise?"

      The Shadow smiled invisibly. "Honour."

      Horandrin became serious in a heartbeat that was not his own. He had not expected that promise. It seemed a worthy promise. But what were they really after? "I must discuss this with my men," he announced, trying to sound neither disinterested, nor tempted.

      "I would expect nothing less," answered the Shadow with a curt nod.

      Horandrin spoke to Harrington. "I ask that we may use these hangers as our quarters. No doubt our presence would be disruptive to the crew."

      "More so than now?" asked Tokugawa, not expecting an answer.

      "You'd best ask the Admiral among us," said Harrington.

      Horandrin had the distinct impression that Tokugawa didn't like him. He did not wonder why. "Your permission, Admiral?"

      Tokugawa thought for a moment, which was clearly to increase the irritation factor. "Granted."

      The group finally started disbanding when Tokugawa's arm was caught by the Shadow.

      Startled Tokugawa did not say a word, which suited the Shadow perfectly. "Tokugawa, he is no more Chaos, than you or I."

      "That does not assure me."

      "And why is that?" asked the Shadow.

      "Facta non verba," was the only response. Admiral Tokugawa walked away, thinking he had gotten the last word.

      The Shadow once again smiled. "Deeds, not words."

      The Thunderhawk settled onto Imperial deck plates that had never seen a chaos vehicle before. And the transport itself, had not touched imperial steel since the Horus Heresy.

      Behind it, more Thunderhawks touched down, and in the other unseen hangers, similar scenes played themselves out. There was a general feel of uneasiness throughout the ship. 'Uncertainty' was the magic word for the day. The crew understood, on a rudimentary level, why they had picked up the Chaos Space Marines. Because the Shadow had told Harrington, and he had told Tokugawa, and he had ordered them. It might be later noted that had this occurred to any other unit, it probably would have mutinied. But, seeing as the Thousand Sons were surprisingly well behaved, and that they themselves were already operating outside the Imperial authority, trust in their commanders and their cause was all they had.

      Tokugawa, under the advisement of Harrington had ordered the hangers vacated of personnel, thus putting physical distance between two historically hostile forces.

      Daleon, was one of the first to disembark. He scanned through the many Thousand Sons that were in the hanger, looking for the only other sorcerer among them.

      "Horandrin!" he shouted, and the figure turned.

      The two sorcerers converged. "What in the name of Tzee-," he stopped himself. Old habits died hard it seemed. "What is going on?"

      "We were just rescued by Imperial Guardsman," Horandrin said chuckling.

      "I can see that."

      "It's a long story, Daleon. And quite honestly, I', not sure I understand it fully, as yet." Horandrin started to make his rounds, assuming the role of the critical commander inspecting his troops. They looked more lost than formidable, he realized. "I can see that explanations are in order."

      Utilizing two ammo crates as a makeshift platform, he asked for attention, and got it swiftly.

      From the observation booth, Harrington and the Shadow watched as Horandrin told what information he knew to a packed house, as it were.

      It was largely silent and still in the dark room. Only the light from the control panel and from inside the hanger provided any illumination. Only the hum of air conditioning was present until he spoke.

      "He's quite the leader," commented Harrington, his hands clasped behind his back, appreciatively. "I can tell by the way they look at him. They are attentive to his words. They respect him, and they trust him.

      "Much like yourself, with your troops," the Shadow said.

      Harrington snorted. "I hardly think so now. A good commander does not break down into a bowl of quivering second thoughts," he said with disgust barely hidden. "Especially in front of his men. It's unprofessional."

      "It's human," countered the Shadow.

      "It's damn sloppy," he insisted. He shook his head. "Napoleon never cried in front of his troops."

      "Napoleon also lost, James," reminded the Shadow.

      "The point is, they expect me to be a leader. They look to me for courage," he said getting angrier with himself more than anyone else. After all, only the foolish get angry at a god. He turned to excuse himself.

      "James!" the Shadow said loudly, not turning from the large windows. Harrington stopped. "You are still a leader, an exceptional one. What happened down there only showed that you're still only a man, who cares deeply enough about his men that he would himself be wracked with worry. And they think more of you for it. They do look to you for courage, so that they might see it within themselves.

      "It is a heavy burden for one man, I realize. But you are not alone."

      He remained silent, and resigned. He left without a word, but with an infinitesimally small grin fighting its way to his lips. Harrington thought about the Shadow's words. "Perhaps then, I should look to them when I'm lacking courage."

      Just then his wristcomm beeped. He answered it promptly, and wished he hadn't. "James, come up to the bridge," sounded Tokugawa's voice. "We have company."

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Well, yet another chapter. I should point out that this is my longest running story EVER. I'm so glad that people are actually reading and enjoying it.

Ivan Alias: Well, what can I say? Once again, an awesome review! Thanks for the quote! And I should tell you that this story is as much a guessing game to me as it is to you. Even I don't know where it will ultimately end up. BTW, saw your review for Mage of the Frost. Don't you know hard science has no place here??? I mean really.  =P

That Swedish Guy: Hey, thanks for the vote of public confidence!


	11. Impending Doom

In the Eyes of Men

by FalconWind

A/N: This will no doubt be very strange to most seasoned WH40K veterans, so please bear with it. All will be explained at the end of the chapter.

Chapter Eleven

"Impending Doom"

      When Harrington arrived at the bridge, the intricate ballet known as 'Battle Stations' was already being played out. Officers and crew, instinctively sought their rightful places. Which left General Harrington, and Colonel Kamerov, in an unusual position of not having anything to do during an impending battle. However, they knew that this was Admiral Tokugawa's domain, and they'd best stay back.

      However, unlike the earlier tense rendezvous with the Thunderhawks, Harrington could see that this was much more serious. The 'company' as Tokugawa had so aptly described, was such that normally, it would need no magnification to see. However, it's pitch-black colour had it nearly invisible on the backdrop of space.

      It was a Battlebarge. And as everyone onboard knew. Only one military force in the universe used Battlebarges.

      "Space Marines," said Kamerov dreadfully.

      "Captain Ross," shouted the admiral, "I want every man ready to fight at a moment's notice."

      "Yes, sir!"

      Harrington piped up. "Admiral, we do not know their intentions. They might not know we've gone rogue, they could just have stumbled upon us."

      "Do you realize the astronomically low chances of 'stumbling upon us'?" asked Tokugawa. "Chances are, they are here because of us," he said grimly.

-----------------------------------

      "Librarian," called the ship's captain, "there is a small fleet of Imperial ships dead ahead. It is just as you predicted."

      "Indeed, let's have a look, shall we?" Librarian Covan said, as he strode towards the view screen. The image zoomed in, displaying the lead ship. "Unusual markings, I believe it says 'Redoubtable'."

      "Indeed, it does, sir," someone said.

      "These markings and transponder codes are not present in the ship's database," commented the captain. "Of course, our information is a little... dated. It is likely they would have changed them by now."

      "If ten thousand years is a 'little dated', I would hate to see what old is," mused Covan.

      "Sir, their gun ports are open," the captain, said slightly worried. It would not be the first time an Imperial ship had fired upon them.

      Covan was not concerned. "It's alright, we simply caught them by surprise."

---------------------------------

      Harrington was not an expert on Space Marines, but he did think he knew most of the colours and insignia. He could not recall a chapter that utilized pitch black with red highlights. Although similar, it was certainly not the Black Templars.

      "Admiral, we're receiving a transmission, standard hail."

      "Answer it, then," Tokugawa said promptly.

      "This is the Expositus Manus, battlebarge of the Doom Lords, loyal servants of the Emperor. I am Captain Teros."

      Harrington and Tokugawa exchanged glances. "This is the Redoubtable of the Tellaris Fleet, Admiral Tokugawa speaking."

      Harrington whispered to Kamerov, "Get Horandrin up here, quick. He might know something about these 'Doom Lords'."

      Kamerov nodded, and exited the bridge with haste.

      Tokugawa had questioning eyes.

      The general mouthed the word "stall".

      Tokugawa cleared his throat theatrically. "I'm afraid your markings and name are unfamiliar to us, Captain. Perhaps you could enlighten us."

      There was a pause. "We are not well known throughout the Imperium," was the simple answer.

      The admiral was now both intrigued, and stalling for time. "A not well known Space Marine Chapter? I did not know such a thing existed," he said adding a chuckle for good measure. Hopefully, the man on the other end did not feel like he was being questioned.

      There was another appreciable pause. "Um, yes, well, it is rare indeed. What are you doing here?"

      Tokugawa actually smiled to himself. "Us? We're conducting a planetary survey."

      "Really? That is quite a bit of firepower for a survey mission," the captain said, dryly.

      "Oh, well, you never know who you might bump into," Tokugawa said, and nearly regretted it.

      Harrington actually winced. Inside jokes are not good strategy.

      "So what are YOU, doing here?" Tokugawa asked the Captain, who sounded young to him.

      "Um, we just happened to stumble across you," he said dismissively.

      Harrington had to put his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing, And Tokugawa didn't make things any easier.

      "Captain, do you realize the astronomically low chances of 'stumbling upon us'?" he said with far too much mirth in his voice. "What's the real reason you're here?"

      There was a pause. "I'd rather not say, sir."

      "Captain, as a Fleet Admiral, I am ordering you to tell me." He made sure to emphasize the fact that he far exceeded him in rank. He had trapped him in the vise-like grip of the command structure.

      "It is true you far exceed my rank, but I am under the jurisdiction of the Adeptes Astartes, and not the Imperial Fleet," informed the unseen captain.

      Tokugawa was taken aback. The captain was right. /Well, that's what I get for being self-important,/ thought the admiral. "Now see here, Captain! We were here first! By standard procedures, we are in situational command! Thus, you are under our jurisdiction!"

      The voice was different the next time it came through the speaker. "This is Brother Covan, Librarian of the Doom Lords, 1st Battalion, 1st Company."

      Everyone stiffened as they realized they were now talking to a psyker. Every single one of them, even Ba'al, was like an open book to him.

      Harrington's mouth had dried.

      "We are here because you are here," the Librarian explained. "You need not be anxious, we are friends."

      There was the sudden feeling of the air shifting around them. Those who looked to see the cause, saw the Shadow standing near the back of the bridge. "Indeed we are," announced the Shadow loudly, startling those who had not seen him present. "Welcome, Covan. I trust you know who this is?"

      "Indeed, I do," was the reply. "The presence of a god is unmistakable."

      "What's going on here?" Tokugawa demanded. "How is it he knows you?"

      The answer dawned on Harrington. "He is part of the Circle..." he said, amazed. "Isn't he?"

      "Indeed, he is," the Shadow said, nodding. "I told you the Circle was larger than you knew."

      "Impossible!" All eyes turned to Horandrin, who still stood at the entrance to the elevator. His eyes blazed brightly, contrasting the dark, red, lighting. "They could not be part of this 'Circle', if they are a part of the Imperium and loyal to the Emperor."

      "We are not part of the Imperium. We are a Legion of exiles. We are somewhat unconventional in our loyalty to the Emperor, and humanity," the Librarian said.

      Harrington chuckled. "Which basically means, you're renegades; just like us."

      "I could not say. I do not know you well enough to make that comparison. However, the presence of a chaos sorcerer onboard does not do you well in my eyes." Covan could sense Horandrin, but could not read him, for Horandrin held his thoughts closely. "The only reason that I are not hostile at this moment is because the Shadow assures me that all is well."

      "And how does one worship the Emperor and the Shadow simultaneously?" Horandrin asked in an almost-sneer.

      "One doesn't," said Covan.

      "I do not ask for their worship, or allegiance. Only their trust. It is the very same that I ask of you," the Shadow clarified. "Now, if Admiral Tokugawa would allow it, I would like you to come aboard, so that I might show you the reason I have asked you here." He looked at the admiral, who squirmed uneasily, and agreed.

      They made arrangements to meet in the main hanger. The same hanger that Horandrin and most of his men, were housed.

      As they exited the bridge, Harrington asked Horandrin a question. "Do you know of the Doom Lords?"

      He shook his head. "I do not. Perhaps it is a new Chapter."

      "I don't think so, Horandrin. He said 'Legion'."

      "General, I know of all the original Legions. There is NO Doom Lords Legion," he insisted adamantly.

      "Yet, there they are."

      The Thunderhawk was painted much like the battlebarge from which it had departed. It was flat black with red highlights and trim. The model was of the same vintage as those the Thousand Sons had come aboard on. The Space Marines that exited the transport were also wearing armor that was painted glossy, pitch black. Some of them had their right lower legs, or knee pad painted a blood red.

      It was crucial that Horandrin and the rest got there to brief the other Thousand Sons. The hate and animosity was many centuries thick, and it showed. A very tangible silence swept over the hanger bay.

      The lead Space Marine, who wore a Psychic Hood over his helmet, was quite obviously the Librarian Covan.

      Covan was in a state of awe. He glanced around him, and saw only troops of the Thousand Sons. They were all standing, looking right back at them. But these were not the automatons that he'd fought before. No, these troops fidgeted, some sat, talked among themselves. From these 'men' he could sense thoughts and feelings. /How could this be?/ he wondered. He checked the emotions of his troops; they were confused and wary, more than anything.

      "By the Emperor, tell me what is going on here," he entreated the eclectic leaders, almost startled at the loudness of his own vocalizer.

      Harrington, whom had taken on a role as a middleman of sorts, was the first to peak up. "What does it look like, Librarian?"

      "I'm not sure. They're aware. They're sentient... alive."

      "Indeed, we are," affirmed Horandrin. "With a little help from our mutual friend," he jerked his head in the Shadow's direction.

      "I see. So, then he freed you." Covan guessed.

      "No, we freed ourselves," corrected Horandrin. "He merely gave us the means and opportunity."

      Covan looked at the Shadow, so far the only being among them that he fully trusted. "It is true," the Shadow confirmed. "They are Tzeentch's henchmen no longer."

      "Yet, I feel the tinge of chaos," observed Covan. "No, merely... a vestige... an aftertaste, if you will." He circled Horandrin, critically. He was studying him with both mind and eye.

      Horandrin was well aware of what he was doing. He did not mind, for it was not unforeseen. He knew what Covan was speaking of. "Yes, such is the price we have paid. Our minds have been restored, but our bodies were not."

      Covan's eyes blinked behind their lenses. He had not considered that aspect. "You are still incorporeal." It was not a question.

      The Librarian looked about him for a moment longer, and laughed.

      Everyone was caught off guard, and Harrington realized it had never occurred to him that Space Marines even knew how to laugh. As far as he knew, 'all work and no play' was one of their battle cries.

      It was a joyous laugh, with not the slightest sound of ridicule. "By the Emperor's heart! This is extraordinary!" exclaimed Covan, perhaps too excitedly. "This is truly momentous! How many are you?"

      Horandrin could not but help marvel at the Space Marine's enthusiasm. "Just over 250," he said with a mixture of pride and curiousity.

      "Truly?" he said, amazed. He seemed to stumble on his words, half starting many, but not finishing any. He finally settled on, simply laughing some more. "I think I need to sit down."

      "I couldn't have said it better myself," Kamerov said deadpan.

      Horandrin, however, did not let himself get distracted from the issue at hand. "I'm curious. How is it that we stand here now, engaged in conversation rather than battle? Such is not the policy of the Adeptus Astartes."

      Covan regained his composure instantly. "Indeed it is not, but we are not normal Adeptus Astartes." His voice seemed to hush and become far more serious, as if telling a great secret. "We are direct descendants of Space Marines exiled during the Horus Heresy. Are geen seed in very diverse, but we are of the Lords of Wrath and the Doom Guard, mostly." 

      Horandrin remembered the Legions. From all accounts, they disappeared after the Horus Heresy had ended. No explanation was ever given, it was always assumed they had simply... disappeared, literally.

      "Those Legions rebelled with Horus," he informed them. "But when the Emperor was mortally wounded, and he lay in his own blood, we chose him over Horus. We came back to his light, and by his Forgiving Heart, he spared us. It is by his orders that we fled destruction."

      It was an extraordinary tale, everyone knew that much without saying so. Never before had they heard, thought, or even dreamt of such a scene. It was scarcely believable , if not for the fact it came from the horse's mouth, so to speak.

      Horandrin would have admitted that the story was one worthy of song and legend, but a single thought ruined his good humour. "Ironic that you should be forgiven for your sins, yet we, were condemned by our faith," he said bitterly. "We tried to warn the Emperor of the Heresy, and what we received in return was a planet, destroyed and a faith, shattered. Our brothers and the Emperor turned against us." Horandrin looked away from the Librarian as painful memories resurfaced. "After ten millennia, I still feel the shards."

      Covan was silent, his head dipped. He reached up, pulled back his hood, and took off his helmet. It revealed a man with a sharp features, and a long face. His eyes however, were soft, for he sympathized with the man. He could feel the emotion, the pain. Many of the Thousand Sons shared that pain as well, memories of long ago still fresh in minds that had not aged.

      Every fibre within Covan told him that it was the truth. He could only scarcely imagine what it had been like. To have been wronged so greatly, by he whom they had sworn their undying allegiance... it was a nightmare. "It is not my deed to apologize for, yet I feel I must. I understand now what must have driven you to chaos. And I think I do not blame you."

      Horandrin, as well as everyone else, scarcely believed their hearing. The Librarian sympathized with him, offered words of understanding. "You do not blame us?"

      Covan shook his head. "I do not. We would not. And the Emperor would not either. His vision is wide enough to see his own follies. He is not a god, as he is," he pointed to the Shadow. "He is a man, ascendant to godhood. And men make mistakes."

      The sorcerer considered the words. They were comforting, if not somewhat idealistic. Could it be that the Emperor would forgive them? If not by his grace, then by his shame.

      "We are followers of the Imperator Demittus," announced the Librarian, "the 'Forgiving Emperor'. It is through these beliefs we have remained true to ourselves, and to the Emperor's light. The Imperium of Man is merely an organization, for which we would not fit into. But the Emperor's grace is not limited to governmental loyalties."

      Covan chuckled. "I sound like a chaplain don't I? Hmm, if Sister Severast were to find out, I'd never hear the end of it," he mused to himself.

      "Sister?" Horandrin repeated, incredulously.

      "Oh, I must have neglected that piece of information. An unforeseen side-effect of having such a... diverse genetic heritage is that our gene-seed works on women, as well."

      "Will miracles never cease?" Tokugawa said shaking his head in disbelief.

      "If you don't believe me..." he gestured to a space marine, who despite his formidable size, was a head shorter than Covan. The helmet was removed with a click-hiss, and it revealed a woman of strong features, with her hair cut down to the base of her skull and braided back.

      Harrington rubbed his eye wearily. It was not out of disbelief, but out of sheer exhaustion. "I swear, I will need consoling after this. In the past week I have deserted my post, taken half of Minos Corva's military, rescued 250 Chaos Marines, met a god, and now I'm meeting a female space marine."

      "Steady, sir, I'm sure things will calm down," said Kamerov, failing to sound convincing.

      "These are strange times indeed," agreed Covan. "All the idealism in the galaxy could not have predicted what you've done," he said to Horandrin. "May I have the honour of your name?"

      "Horandrin."

      "Horandrin, you have done something extraordinary. You've brought your brothers forth from corruption. The Imperator Demittus teaches us that any who is willing can find forgiveness in the Emperor's eyes. We are proof. And I hope, that you will be as well." He smiled weakly. "The Doom Lords have fought many Traitor Marines, and each time, we give them the chance for redemption... I hope you will be the first to accept."

      Horandrin was silent for many moments. As were the Thousand Sons gathered around them, for they anxiously waited for what Horandrin would decide. But it turned out, that he would not choose at all. "It is not my decision to make. These men," he gestured to the marine's all around him, men in spirit, not body, "chose to turn from Tzeentch. They chose me as their leader, and they chose to follow me. They must choose again."

      Covan nodded, most respectfully. "A wise decision, nonetheless. We are, perhaps, an idealistic Legion, but we are not stupid. We hope for the best, and prepare for the worst, which is why we do not yet call you brothers... yet."

      Horandrin nodded. "I understand. Perhaps-," he stopped in mid sentence, for he felt the air around him, charged with energy. The vast hanger seemed to double and slide out of focus. He knew this well, and judging Covan, who was slipping his helmet back on in haste, he knew as well.

      "A boarding party!" he yelled. "The enemy is warping into the hanger!"

      Horandrin, and his fellow marines, were ill prepared for battle. The Thunderhawks held most of their armament. Only Calderon, the hulking Dreadnought, was ready to fight.

      Horandrin simultaneously watched the Thousand Sons scramble for weapons, while looking about the hanger for the ripple-effect that would signify the warp tunnel. "Hurry!"

      He saw it. "There!" he said pointing into the corner of the hanger.

      "I see nothing!" said Harrington, pistol drawn. It seemed to him that Horandrin pointed at empty air. A flash of light, and a company of Thousand Sons materialized into the hanger. At the head, was one very large sorcerer.

      Harrington's witty quip was promptly drowned out by the deafening roar of over two hundred boltguns blazing.

---------------------------------

Dedicated to That Swedish Guy, because he rocks.

---------------------------------

A/N: The Doom Lords are the property of "That Swedish Guy" AKA Magnus Asblom. He presented me with his Space Marine Legion, and I was more than happy to find that it integrated seamlessly with the story. It was perhaps fate. Thus, a BIG thanks to That Swedish Guy and his awesome Doom Lords. BTW, points for anyone who knows what the battlebarge's name means. ;)

* A Note from That Swedish Guy *: "Ok, i know that many consider Space Marines to be male only and some claim there is something in the fluff texts about that. But i have never seen such a text, and i saw that there were female Space Marines in the original Rogue Trader line. Maybe they were what became the Sisters of Battle, i don´t know. Anyway, this is _my_ Legion, and _my_ background, so as long as i stay within the rules _you_ have no say. ;) Sure, some of the people you may meet in this story might not conform to standard rules, but those are "special characters", and as so is only in game when my opponent allows it. Anyway, i hope they inspire this story, and maybe even you, to go outside what GW has put up, and break out of the standard. Game on, read on, and above everything else... Have fun. Cheers!" 

So there.

The Emperor's will commands you to review.

And so does Tzeentch... it's an unholy alliance, commanding you to review.


	12. Dust & Reflections

In the Eyes of Men

by Falconwind

Chapter Twelve

"Dust and Reflections"

      In an instant, the air became ladden with 20mm boltgun fire and the occasional las beam. All fire converged on the spot the intruding Traitor Marines occupied.

      The hanger airlock opened, and Conrad's unit flowed in, adding their lasguns to the mix. But for all the massive destructive capacity brought to bear, the Traitor Marines did not fall. They were as trees in the still night, unmoving even under the hurricane of a hundred explosive rounds.

      Horandrin quickly realized that Kalmain was protecting them. And there was little he could do about it, for he knew that Kalmain was much more powerful that he. At least while the protective barrier was up, the intruders would not be able to attack either. "Surpressing fire! Do not let him drop the field!"

      Drawing his sword, crackling blue with arcane energy, he approached the Shadow, who looked almost unconcerned. "Divine intervention would be most appropriate."

      He nodded and flung his hands forward from his cloak theatrically. The gloved hands seemed to grasp at invisible strings, moving in a graceful pattern that Horandrin scarely recognized. It was some sort of spell, that was all he knew.

      Then it happened, most silently, and eeriely, the shadows of the still thunderhawks lengthened. They grew larger, darker until they touched Kalmain's shield, indicated only by the shells ricocheting and exploding against it's impregnable surface.

      With a thunderous boom and the rush of air, the shield evaporated, and Kalmain was thrown backward but a few steps.

      "The field is negated," the Shadow said simply.

      Firepower assailed the Traitor Marines, but they too unleashed their bolters. It was madness, as they engaged each other at point-blank range.

      Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Covan had appropriated himself some of Horandrin's men, including the fearsome hulk of Calderon. With the opposing cries of "FOR THE BLOOD THAT WAS SPILT!" and "ALL IS DUST!" the two groups charged, and reaped terrible vengence. Only Kalmain remained, with vicious fury in his emerald eyes.

      Horandrin's eyes met his gaze, and were bright only with determination. He would not let Kalmain stop them. His gaze narrowed, and his world became Kalmain.

      It was a surreal experience for the Imperial Guardsman, who had never fought the forces of chaos for real. It was inconceivable that Kalmain still stood, yet there he was.

      Conrad's marksman skills be damned, the sorcerer would not go down. At least the Doom Lords and Thousand Sons shielded them from most of the fire. But he scarely believed his eyes when, amidst the fighting, Horandrin and Kalmain found time for a staring match.

      Kalmain, was unused to defeat, and would not let himself taste it today. He charged the only being in the room he cared about. Horandrin. Shrugging off the bolter fire, he struck out at Horandrin with his mighty sword, made sompletely of swirling red energies.

      Horandrin's weapon, itself imbued with magical properties intercepted the blow, and deflected to the floor, were the two swords sank easily into the deckplates.

      "Traitor! You would consort with these weak fools." He swung with speed only possible with a weightless sword. "The Emperor is not your master! Tzeentch is your master!" He struck again, a flurry of jabs, swings, and parries were exchanged.

      Horandrin did not distract himself from the fight with talk. Kalmain was a mighty sorceror, one to be feared. Horandrin faked a lunge, and the Sorceror Lord took the bait and was rewarded with a deep slice across his side.

      "Argh! How dare you!" He struck again, not with quickness of skill, but force of anger.

      Horandrin dodged it easily. He chuckled, for it was becoming obvious that Horandrin was the better swordsman among them.

      The withering hail of bullets had sinced stopped, as Horandrin was not immune as Kalmain was. It was fine with Horandrin, however, for this was not a battle. It was a duel.

      Another flurry of strikes, and yet again, Horandrin scored a hit.

      "You certainly are skilled, Horandrin. I underestimated you. But if I cannot kill you, then perhaps I shall kill your cause!" Turning from Horandrin, he ran head long into the marines.

      "DIE TRAITORS!!!"

      Horandrin acted from instinct. He did what he knew he had to do to save his brothers, who would most certainly fall under Kalmain's demonic sword.

      "You first!" he muttered as he threw his Ethereal Sword, as he had never done before. The sword spun through the air like a giant throwing knife, its sound like a helicopter blade in slow motion.

      Kalmain struck out, and his sword was blocked by Covan's. The pair struggled against one another for a split second. Then Kalmain surged forward, limp, collapsing on top of the startled Librarian, whose sword was still locked with the Sorceror Lord's.

      Pushing the heavy, empty suit of armour off his body, Covan saw Horandrin's sword, buried deeply into Kalmain's back. From its gold hilt, to its silvered tip, the sword still pulsed with energy.

      The conjured sword faded into nothingness, and Covan was able to withdraw his weapon.

      His helmet belied the fact that Covan was somewhat stunned. He certainly hadn't expected Horandrin to throw his massive sword.

      "My gratitude, Horandrin," he said, his voice disguised through the vocalizer. He inspected his sword, which now displayed a large gouge where the two swords had met. He thanked the Emporer that it had been made of Adamantium. "I don't think I could have survived him, otherwise."

      Horandrin withdrew his fearsome weapon from the Sorceror Lord's back, and offered his hand to Covan, who accepted it.

      "You wield a fine weapon to be sure," commented Horandrin. He gestured to the gouge. "A lesser blade would have been cleaved in half, followed by your head."

      Covan chuckled. "Duly noted. You're men fought well, Horandrin. Extraordinarily well, in fact."

      "Such is the consequence of ten millenia of battle practice," Horandrin said, half-jokingly.

      "Indeed. More to the point, however, is they fought marines of their own Legion and of their ex-god. Your dedication has been tested, and the..." Covan considered his words, "dust... spilled today is seen, and shall be remembered. I would greet you as brothers, if you would have it." He offered his hand.

      A tense moment passed and Horandrin suddenly found himself shaking it. They shared a brotherly half-hug, not unlike the one he had shared with his own alter-ego.

      The hanger became a scene most unimaginable. All marines, Thousand Sons or otherwise, cheered. The Thousand Sons celebrated, for it was a milestone, a testament that they had truly done the impossible. The Doom Lords cheered, because having Traitor Marines return to righteousness was the epitome of Imperator Demittus. They revelled in the confirmation of their beliefs; that no man is so far from the Emperor's Light as to not be able to find his way back.

      Greetings and gestures of friendship and celebration were passed around for a good while.

      Even the guardsmen were not immune to the situation, and as they stood grins plastered on their faces, they were treated to hugs and pats of all sorts.

      Conrad laughed uncontrollably. "This is crazy!" He hadn't been so amazed out of his mind, ever. Marines, in his mind, had always seemed less than human to him. Just too serious for his liking. This was like suddenly finding out that dogs can talk when they want to.

      The commontion died down to a murmer, and Covan was able to speak one again. "As commander of my expedition, I have the power to invite you back with me."

      Horandrin had not felt so pleasant in millenia, and the after effects were still upon him, even as he asked, "Where?"

      "Back to our Homeworld of Evernight. We are not quite that far away. And I am certain that our navigator will want to make record time."

      Horandrin was taken aback. "You wish to invite us? To your homeworld?"

      "I wager you've never had an invitation for planetfall before, hmm?" he laughed. "I guarantee that you would be most welcomed."

      "I find that hard to believe; we are ex-chaos."

      "Precisely," he said. "Ex-chaos. Formerly chaos."

      Horandrin looked about him, and found no opposition. "We accept."

      He turned to General Harrington. "You're most welcome, as well."

      "Will there be partying?" Conrad asked eagerly, popping his head through the scores of marines. "Because, you know, we could all use a good party."

      "Sergeant, you do not know the meaning of the word until you've celebrated with us!" he boasted.

      The joyous atmosphere had now been replaced by simple optimism. It was the best that they could manage, for the battle with Kalmain had not been cheap... at least in Horandrin's eyes. Daleon was far more rationalized about the losses they had suffered. 12 brothers destroyed, many badly damaged.

      /Or is the term wounded?/ Horandrin thought.

      It was not a particularly high number, but one had to take into account the value of each Thousand Son, as Horandrin did. Not only had many millenia of battle experience been lost, but the fact that they would never regain that number was more lamentable.

      Concerning the Thousand Sons, injuries were dealt with by sorcerers, who through alchemical processes, repaired the bodies that were no more that power armours imbued with life. A mere techmarine was just not adequate, nor was an apothecary.

      The outlook was surprisingly bright, Horandrin reflected. It was an odd thing, that a universe so dark, and so bleak, still remembered how to make miracles once in a while.

      Horandrin smiled in his mind. "Who would have thought I'd become an optimist."

      "Indeed," said Daleon, who was also repairing one of his brethren. "I do hope it does not rub off on me."

      "Perish the thought." Horandrin removed his hands from the fallen marine's chest, and the Doom Lord's eyes fluttered open.

      The eyes blinked, and squinted at the bright overhead lights. His gaze shot to Horandrin's mask. And all at once the man's face became stunned, and slightly suspicious. "You saved my life, sorcerer." The man sat up stiffly. "I don't think the Emperor would be pleased at the method, however."

      "You're alive aren't you?" Horandrin said dryly.

      "That I am. And that pleases me, to be sure." He looked down, examining the half-dozen holes in his chest armour. "Wow."

      Horandrin stood up. He was tired. Mentally drained to such a degree that even his limbs seemed to react sluggishly. Looking at Daleon, he was not immune either.

      "So that's what it takes to tire a Thousand Son, hmm?"

      Horandrin turned at Covan's voice. "It would seem so."

      "I have seen what you've done for my men, I thank you for that."

      He nodded, and stared at the Librarian. "I have not been this close to a Space Marine, outside of combat, for some time."

      "It's strange for me, as well," Covan admitted. "Strange, in a pleasing way."

      "The Imperator Demittus," Horandrin asked suddenly, "you believe it, truly?"

      "That I do," the Librarian answered. "We are proof. Proof that, at least at one time, the Emperor had mercy in his heart."

      "Not any longer?" Horandrin asked.

      Covan seemed to chew his words before finally speaking them. "That is something I wonder about, Horandrin." He sighed, and set upon his face a smiling facade. "Such depressing thoughts are not good for the soul, my friend. The Shadow and the others wish to speak, we shouldn't keep them waiting."

      Horandrin nodded, and turned to Daleon. "Are you coming, old friend?"

      Daleon thought for a moment. "No, I shall keep watch over things."

      "Are you certain?"

      "Yes."

      The Librarian and the Sorcerer walked out of the hanger, destined for the conference room.

      "He has changed," a rich, metallic voice said from behind Daleon.

      One would have marveled at Calderon's stealthy approach, but Daleon only nodded, absently. "We all have."

      He looked over at the Doom Lords, who sat about their Thunderhawk with an easiness Daleon had never seen before in the Adeptus Astartes. "We are but children," he began reciting, "cast out by the parents and torn from our roots. But it is within ourselves that we look for family, and hold each other as brothers." Daleon could not remember from where the quotation had come, but he knew that it was not the source that mattered, but the meaning.

      For the briefest moment, Caldeon mistook the sorcerer for Horandrin. Daleon was not known for quoting scripture. "You should not be so naive, Daleon," said Calderon. "Horandrin needs you to be skeptical. He knows that he wants this too greatly, and that his judgement is skewed."

      Daleon looked at the massive dreadnought, surprised. "You do not believe the Doom Lords to be sincere?"

      "I do not. Nor should you."

      "And why is that? What proof do you have of treachery?" Daleon questioned him.

      "Not proof, but precedence. They cannot be trusted any further than we. Remember that they are Adeptus Astartes." He walked off, heavy feet trembling the deckplates.

      Daleon looked on after the dreadnought, somewhat startled. Was he so naive, that he did not think that the Doom Lords could betray them? He knew well that the Imperium considered morals and ethics to be 'flexible' when it served them. But that is not to say he believed that they would betray their trust. It is perhaps the man longing for the childhood taste of sugar, but he wanted to believe them sincere. "You're right, Calderon," he said quietly. "But I also remember that we were once Adeptus Astartes, as well."

--------------------------

APOLOGY: Alright, I must sincerely apologize for the HUGE pause between the last and latest update. As I was writing a came to realize that the story was branching too far off from the main focus, which was supposed to be Horandrin. However, I have managed to remedy this and the next few chapters (already written) will be posted in reasonable intervals.

I am currently working on an ambitious original sci-fi (may appear on ), so hopefully i can pick this up where i left off.

Belated author responses:

TaranGryph: Wow, what can I say. You're review is most welcome. It is always a great confirmation that people are really liking my stories when they take the time to review. In a strange twist to things, your review actually derailed my bullet-train writing binge i was on, and now i think i'm ready to pick up where i left off. You are completely right, by the way.

Ivan Alias: as usual, an enjoyable review. And once again, thanks for the quote.

Darth: Yeah, no kidding.


	13. Meetings

In the Eyes of Men

by Falconwind

Chapter Thirteen

"Meetings"

They were an odd couple, to use the term. However, to call a Space Marine Librarian and a Chaos Sorcerer an 'odd couple' was most certainly to invite bodily harm. Or at least the threat of such. It was, however, nonetheless true.

To be sure, most, if not all, the crewmen had never seen either a Space Marine or Chaos Space Marine first-hand. And to see them walking next to each other onboard an Imperial warship was definately something no one had expected.

They walked silently for the most part. Their thoughts churned inside their heads, consuming all faculties so that they could only stare ahead with unfocused eyes.

Horandrin was the first to speak. "We are truly to be welcomed on Evernight?", he said almost absently.

Covan glanced at him with raised eyebrows. "You doubt my sincerity." It was not a question, nor an answer.

Horandrin considered his response. "It is not you whom I doubt. I doubt... everything." They turned the corner. "I try to keep my doubts hidden, but they are great."

"Why so?"

"That I keep them hidden? Or, that they are great?" he asked.

"That they are great. I know why you keep it hidden."

Horandrin considered Covan, and nodded slowly. "I cannot help but feel that the universe smiles upon me too affably. Things progress easily, and we continue to do the impossible." Horandrin stopped abruptly, causing the Librarian to back-track some steps. " I will not lie; I desire peace between us greatly. But why should we Thousand Sons be the recipients of such charity? What have we done to deserve a second chance?" He looked at Covan, hoping for an answer, that he knew he could not give.

"I don't Know, Horandrin. But from what I've seen, in this short period, I can say that there are no others more deserving."

Horandrin scoffed. "Only words."

"Words of truth," insisted Covan. "I have seen you fight against your own. We have fought together, and spilt blood and dust together. I need no more convincing." He smiled lopesidedly. "Besides, you saved my life."

"But perhaps this is a trick. Perhaps this is but an elaborate scheme," said Horandrin.

"You would not say such, if it were," the Librarian pointed out. He continued to walk, and the sorcerer was forced to follow. "Nor would you have destroyed so many of your former comrades if you had a choice."

Covan stopped. "It is regrettable that they did not share your views. Or else you would not have had to fight them."

Horandrin agreed. He had not wanted to fight his former brothers, even if they did not feel a thing when destroyed. They were but power armour embued with a trace of life so that they may fight and follow orders. But they were still family, in essence. Back in the hanger, they had fought with determination and resolve. But undoubtably, each of his men pondered the morality of fighting one's own.

"Betrayal begets betrayal," muttered Horandrin.

"Well, I wouldn't quite say you betrayed the Emperor, so much as he wronged you," commented the Space Marine Librarian.

Horandrin nodded his thanks. "It is refreshing to hear a Space Marine not overcome by rhetoric and zealotism."

"I could say the same about you. But I must stress the fact that we are idealistic, not naive. You did well in gaining our trust, but you have not gained it all. Millenia of treachery and murder do not evaporate with one battle. We will be watching, and you will have to do much to prove yourselves worthy of our friendship."

"I thought I had your trust," Horandin said.

"You do. YOU have MINE. But a single Librarian or Sorcerer does not a Legion make."

They had finally reached their destination, the compartment marked "Conference Room."

-----------------------------------------------

Imperial Guard Garrison GSI4452-X5593 (Venerable Base), Minos Corva, Tellaris System

Commissar Branch and Commissar Steinbech sat quietly in a room that seemed to have no walls. The bright overhead lamp bathed the grey, rectangular table in white light while the rest of the room was completely obscured in shadows. The room was deathly quiet, and though both men hid it well, they were nervous. The room, after all, was essentially an interrogation room.

Steinbech, however, was possibly more indignant than nervous. "How dare they keep us here against our will! We have done nothing wrong!" he declared vehemently. "Why do they hold us so?" he asked Branch, who could have cared less.

He sighed. The more he interacted with his counterpart, the more he disliked him. "We're here because the most highly trained core of Minos Corva's military deserted it's post while under our 'watchful' gaze. I should think it's obvious why we're here."

"I still don't see why," he grumbled. "They have my report."

"Would you be satisfied to simply read a report if fifteen ships and 150,000 guardsmen equivalent to stormtroopers or better deserted?" Branch asked. "They want us to tell them what happened."

"Humph. Still, I should think that they would not have us sitting here for an hour," continued Steinbech.

Branch was about to finally give the man a piece of his mind when the door abruptly opened, suddenly blinding them with the light from the outside. The door closed just as quickly, and both men where aware of another in the room, standing in the shadows.

The figure stepped into the light, revealing a rather large-framed man in non-descript Imperial clothing that only identified him a member of some branch of the Adeptus Terra. His hair was grey and thick, and his face was round with large eyes of a light blue. He looked, Branch imagined, wise.

"Good..." the man started, checking his chrono, "...afternoon, Commissars. My name is Gerard, I shall be interviewing you concerning the mass desertion of three divisions of Imperial Guard, and of the Minos Corva fleet. Answer truthfully and quickly, and this shall not take more than a few hours. If you wish, I will have dinner sent to us, if we need to do so. Either way, we shall be finished, and not until then." He sat down opposite them without preamble and placed before him an audio recorder, a paper note pad, and some folders. "My first questions will be about General Harrington and-."

"Now, wait just one second!" said Steinbech indignantly. The man arched an eyebrow. "You keep us waiting for almost two hours in the dark, and you walk in and proceed to dictate to us without so much as an explanation!"

The man blinked for a second. "Of course, how thoughtless of me. You must understand that you were kept waiting because I was not yet planetside. It would have been difficult to commence this interview with several million miles between us. I only happened to be in the vicinity, and thus is the reason for my relative quickness in getting here. Terra is, after all, quite a distance."

"I have heard that tone from many before you, and I must say that it does not do well to be cheeky with me," warned Steinbech. "I want an apology."

"Of course," the man said amiably. "I apologize for keeping you waiting. It was rude and unbecoming of me to not afford you the proper courtesy."

Stienbech grinned with satisfaction. "I accept you apology. I trust it will not happen again, lest I inform your superiors."

"Undoubtably, I shall not offend you again." He turned to Branch. "And have you anything to say?"

Branch shrugged. "I also did not appreciate the wait, however, it is not in my nature to demand an apology," he cast a disapproving look at his counterpart. "I was well enough to simply bear with it, and trust that you would make this proceeding swift, which you have promised to do and I thank you."

The man nodded curtly. "You're welcome. Now, shall we proceed?"

They both nodded.

The man switched on the recorder, and noted the date and time out loud. He then Identified himself as, "Inquisitor Morro Gerard" and set his eyes upon the stunned Commissars.

Branch was the first to regain his composure, and he looked at Steinbech, who remained wide-eyed and pale.

Inquisitor Gerard smiled, almost dangerously. "Commissar Branch, you may relax." He focused his steely gaze towards Steinbech. "You, however, are very, very, VERY, lucky that I am an Inquisitor with an unusually abundant supply of patience and good-humour," he said sternly.

Steinbech gulped, and tried to disappear beneath the table.

Branch coughed. "I would like to apologize, Inquisitor. I did not know whom I addressed."

"You need not apologize, Commissar Branch, you acted most civily. And, at the time, I had not identified myself as an Inquisitor, so you're misconduct can be forgiven. Commissar Steinbech, however, shall recieve a disciplining should this lesson in humility go unheeded. Is that understood?"

Steinbech squeaked out a 'yes, sir'.

"Now, I think we should start, lest we become further distracted. Please tell me your thoughts on General James Harrington. What did you think of him? What did he think of you? How would you characterize him? Steinbech?"

He cleared his throat. "General Harrington is a traitor, I do not think I should waste good Imperial thoughts on his treacherous character. He was a man who actively dabbled in forbidden texts and never truly served the Emperor."

The Inquisitor made some notes on his pad with a pen. And old-fashioned method, to be sure. "Very well spoken, Commissar. I'm sure the instructors at the academy would be proud. Branch?"

He took a deep breath. "General Harrington was perhaps the greatest man I have ever known. He was a commander written from a text-book of leadership. His men adored him, and his abilities were superb. He held himself and his troops to a high standard, and was perhaps the very core of the Minos Corva military. He was a admirable man, worthy of every praise, but never looking for it. He was a man of common sense, and good humour."

"Indeed, he was a great man," said Gerard.

"Yes, he was. But Steinbech is, more or less, right about some things. He never did, truly, 100, support the Imperium of Man. But he did not have any other loyalties that I knew of, certainly not Chaos, that I thought I knew for sure. He did not like that the Imperium had taken control of Minos Corva, that was all."

Gerard looked intrigued. "Why did he resent Imperial presence?"

"Are you familiar with the history of Minos Corva?"

"Yes."

"Then I need not tell you of the prosperity that they enjoyed, despite being cut-off from Terra for so many centuries. General Harrington likened the coming of the Imperium to the end of a Golden Age. For you see, Inquisitor, before, Minos Corva had existed as it always had. A by-product of it's self-sufficiency. They remained civilized and cultured; their society was like that of Earth during it's greatness. Now, that is gone."

"Gone? How?" asked Gerard.

"Until we came, Inquisitor, the education system here was free and uncensored. Citizens could study and learn everything and anything they wished. It was empowerment by knowledge. As you know, we do not support this, because too much knowledge is dangerous. We siezed all books and files that could be found, and much of it was destroyed as heretical materials."

Gerard nodded. "This, I know."

"And as well, the Adeptus Mechanicus siezed the Planetary Archives, which contained much information from before the Dark Age, depriving them of that. As well, he often said that Minos Corva had become a target for the Dark Eldar and others because of the mere virtue of being part of the Imperium."

"I see, so the coming of the Imperium was, in essence, a step backward for the planet. Instead of coming to a world in disorder and savagry, we came to a planet of peace and knowledge. We took both those things away from them." Gerard seemed to nod to himself. "So he was Anti-Imperial, that is considered treason in itself."

"Yes, sir, but he never acted against the Imperium. I believe the phrase 'If you can't beat them, join them' applies. But he was, by no means, a worshipper of Chaos."

"I can't believe you!" cried Steinbech, suddenly. "You call youself a Commissar! You just testified on behalf of a traitor! A deserter!"

"I have told the truth, that is all!" Branch stated, defensively. "He earned my respect!"

"Obviouly, it wasn't worth much," he said contemptuously.

"Harrington was a man that a boor like you couldn't possibly understand!"

"A boor I may be, but at least I'm not a traitor!"

Branch slammed his fist on the table. "Stop calling him a traitor! We don't know what he's done, if anything, yet!"

"I wasn't talking about him!" he said, seethingly. "Inquisitor, I contend that Commissar Branch is a sympathetic, and should be treated as a suspected accomplice!"

Branch stood in outrage. "Outrageous! For all we know, you could be the accomplice, and thus is the reason you're framing me!"

"Gentlemen!" yelled the Inquisitor. "Shall we conduct ourselves with a little more maturity than ten year-olds? I am well aware of Commissar Branch's high regard for General Harrington. That being said, I am done with you, Steinbech, you may go. As for Branch, we have more to talk about."

Steinbech got up. "Very well. I trust the truth will reveal itself shortly," he said glaring at Branch.

"Yes, indeed it will," replied Gerard ominously.

-----------------------------------

The room was fairly lavish, but it still had an air of utilitarianism to it. The walls had the same imitation wood panelling, and the large rectangular table in the middle was what looked like wood once again. The room had paintings of landscapes, and some non-descript looking commander types. The room was meant to be a formal, private meeting place for dignitaries and honoured guests, so it was fitting, in a strange way.

On one side, sat Harrington and Tokugawa. At the far end was the Shadow, and three more chairs remained, two for them, and the other most likely was intended for Daleon, who had not opted to attend.

"Good evening, my friends. Please have a seat," announced the Shadow. Horandrin wondered when he had graduated to 'friend'.

They both took a seat, which was somewhat small for their large, armoured bodies.

"I'm afraid the /Redoubtable/ wasn't designed for Space Marines, nor was it's furniture," commented Tokugawa.

Covan chuckled. "Well, being this large does sometimes have it's drawbacks."

"May I ask the reason for this meeting?" asked Horandrin as he took his seat next to Covan. He wasted no time in coming to the point.

The Shadow inclined his head. "Yes, you may, Horandrin. The reason for this meeting is to fully disclose what mission we are to set ourselves to."

"A mission?" asked Tokugawa.

"That is what I said, admiral. A mission of great importance, that is without doubt." He paused, seeming to collect himself. "However, even I, in my vast cosmic knowledge, cannot say exactly what threat we face. Only that it is one which will change the shape of the universe as we know it."

"Grandiosity aside, that does not enlighten us further," stated Horandrin.

The Shadow took no offense in the comment. "Chaos is rising, my friends. That is all I know. Were I a God of Chaos, I would be privy to more information, but as I am not, that is all I know."

"I assume a war is coming, then," concluded Harrington. "Why else would our services be needed."

"You assume correctly, James. A war is indeed coming, and I cannot say what the very nature of it will be. But I know that we are a force to be reckoned with, and that we will play an instrumental role."

"For the better, I hope?" asked Covan.

The Shadow nodded. "For the better, certainly. We shall side with the light, and push the darkness back to where it belongs."

"And what of you, Shadow? You say you are a God of the Light, but you are of the Shadows. That seems to be a contradiction," said Tokugawa.

"Shadows are created by the Light. It is the Light that defines me, and shapes me, and gives me form. That is where my alligence and loyalties reside. If Darkness and Chaos were to take over, then I would be swallowed, and become as them. I would not like to be as they are."

"I find comfort in the fact that you have a personal stake in this," said Horandrin. "I am tired of Gods who wish to manipulate the universe from atop their throne."

The Shadow chuckled. "Aren't we all?"

And indeed, they were.

"So what of this 'Evernight'?" asked Tokugawa without preamble. "What sort of planet is it?"

Covan, Evernight being his home planet, was the obvious source for answers. "It does not fall into any one class of world, so far as Imperial classifications go. It is a civilized world, and yet it is not very hospitable for the most part."

"A Death World?" asked Tokugawa.

"No," Covan shook his head, "nothing so threatening. There are very few lifeforms large enough to pose a threat to any man."

"A Dead World, then?"

"Once again, no. The very name of my planet indicates it's prevalent feature. It is always night on Evernight, hence it's name. More accurately, it is always dark. Strictly speaking, the world cannot support the people which live upon it."

"No sunlight means no plants, which means no animals, which means no food," concluded Harrington.

"Well, there are some plants and animals, but essentially you are right," affirmed Covan. He turned to Horandrin. "Certainly, if we were short on food I would not invite you all to a banquet."

Horandrin simulated clearing his throat, for he had none.

"Uh, yes, of course. How thoughtless of me." He coughed. "Still, the invitation remains."

Horandrin bowed slightly. "And it remains accepted."

"What is the level of technology on Evernight?" asked Harrington.

"For the most part," Covan began, "it is high, but not so high as, say, yourselves, whom I imagine are at least on par with Cadia."

Tokugawa frowned at the sound of the name. "Really? And how did you divine that information, Librarian?" he asked.

Covan grinned. "Nothing so invasive as scanning your mind, Admiral. I simply observed your Storm Troopers' armour; they look like Kasrkin." Covan spoke of the Cadian's super elite Storm Troopers, whose armour actually managed to look more heavy than those of Space Marine Scouts.

Harrington cleared his throat. "Actually," he began, "as a point of fact, we don't look like them. They look like us."

"Indeed?"

Harrington nodded, somewhat proud to bolster his troops reputation. "That armour design was developed here, or rather on Minos Corva. It was copied by the Adeptus Mechanicus and then distributed to the Kasrkin."

"Ah, I see," said Covan know well that Harrington took pride in his troops, "my mistake. However, we stray from the topic. They have just begun utilizing jet engines and nuclear power for an example. There are pockets of high technology more comparable to your own, and they take great care to only release technology in such ways that do not distrupt the less advanced portions of the planet. Actually, nuclear physics was perfected by a scientist living outside of the Tech Sancuaries, so it has not detracted from their pursuit of the sciences."

The Librarian had been speaking for some time now, and Harrington, not wanting to be rude had listened. But he now wanted more information relevant to him. "Honourable Librarian," Harrington began.

Covan interrupted him. "Forgive me, General, but longwinded etiquette is not one of my passions."

Harrington chuckled. "Good, nor is it mine. Covan, what of the military strength of Evernight?"

"Other than my brothers, negligible. We have but a handful of troops, about 500,000 including reserves, I believe."

Harrington was shocked at such a low number. "For the entire planet?"

Covan nodded. "The population is rather small, and we have not needed one on Evernight; it is kept safe by it's secrecy. One cannot attack what one does not know about. As for the Doom Lords, we number 4000, massed."

"A significant number of Adeptus Astartes, so be sure," commented Tokugawa.

Harrington agreed. "Yes, but I would still rather have more regular troops."

"One space marine is equal to any three guardsmen, easily," Covan said, not realizing that Harrington did not share this view entirely.

Tokugawa sighed. "And here we go..."

Covan was about to ask what he meant, but he eventually figured it out.

"As a point of fact, Librarian, that is not necessarily true," started Harrington. "In a face-to-face confrontation, perhaps, but on a battlefield, the three guardsmen have a distinct advantage that one space marine can never hope to gain."

"Really." Covan said, incredulously. "And what is that?"

"Simple. They can be in three places at once."

Covan blinked, then laughed. "I stand corrected, General. You wish more manpower, rather than just firepower."

"Precisely."

"I can understand that. However, I was indeed referring to a face-to-face confrontation. I understand well the concept of 'strength in numbers'," Covan said, rather amused.

"I'm afraid my convictions do not stand still, even when no insult is intended."

"So I see. There is a strong drive inside you, General, I can see that now."

"Thank you," Harrington bowed his head slightly.

"Gentlemen, I think now would be a good time to ajourn for the evening. It's been a strange night for all of us, I'm sure, and a respite is well deserved. I, however, must attend to matters abroad." By 'abroad' they assumed he meant 'throughout the universe'. "I bid you good night, then."

The Shadow receeded into the darkness of the room, and did not return.

"I still think that's creepy," said Tokugawa.

"You obviously haven't had many dealings with Chaos then," Horandrin said as he walked out, followed by the others.

--------------------------------

Ivan Alias: Heh, yeah, I know... been busy with other things. Gemini, you know, can't settle for just one story at a time.

darth: me too :P

HammerOfElohim: i'm glad you like it. I tried to have the story mostly serious, but I had to throw in some humourus dialogue just to keep people on their toes. Personally, I think that in a story such as this, in the WH40K setting (while interesting, it's also ridiculous) it works quite well.

Thalanox: hey, thanks. As a writer, it is always a pleasure to know one is appreciated for their work.


	14. Walking Together

In the Eyes of Men

by Falconwind

Chapter Fourteen

"Walking Together"

Imperial Guard Garrison GSI4452-X5593 (Venerable Base), Minos Corva, Tellaris System

Though Commissar Branch hated to admit it, Steinbech's absence caused him to become most uncomfortable. Now, there was only him and the Inquisitor in the dark room. Branch tried his best to not fidget, but under the attentive, unblinking eyes of the Inquisitor, it was hard, near impossible, to not feel the pressure.

Branch's mouth had gone dry, and he swallowed as if that would help. It didn't.

"Care for something to drink, Commissar?" the Inquisitor asked, startling him.

"Nothing alchoholic, Inquisitor, thank you."

"Actually, I was referring to a glass of water," he said, a slight smirk on his face. "You're mouth is dry, is it not?"

Branch's left eye narrowed, as it did when he was suspicious of someone. "Yes, it happens it is," he said neutrally. /You goddamn mind reader,/ he added mentally.

Inquisitor Gerard visibly frowned. "Now, now, Commissar, it is simply what I do. As an Inquisitor, I'm well within my rights to invade your innermost thoughts."

Branch was taken aback; his suspicion had been founded. "So then, why are we speaking if you may simply suck the knowledge you need from my brain?" Branch said, his hostility growing. He realized, somewhat shockingly, that he was being hostile towards an Inquisitor, and he didn't care.

Gerard seemed to reach into the shadows of the room and pull a glass of water from nowhere. Was there someone else in the room? Branch could not tell.

The water was set upon the table in the center, as if a peace offering.

Branch, who's throat desperately desired the water could not help himself from taking the drink.

He downed it in moments.

"There," said Gerard soothingly, "isn't that better?"

Branch decided that the question did not warrant an answer.

"You know," the Inquisitor began, "I too know General Harrington well. I met him on many occasions during my first mission to this planet. It seems like a lifetime ago. I knew he was a great military mind instantly, and accurately forsaw his rise to the position of Military Commander of Minos Corva."

For some reason, Branch's hostility towards the Inquisitor still remained, he struggled to understand where it came from. "Really? Good for you."

Gerard simply returned to his story. "I came to know him quite well, and indeed we called each other 'friends' for a time." Branch arched an eyebrow. "Then, my mission was complete, and other duties called me away. So I left."

He leaned back and meshed his hands together on his stomach. "I must admit, I knew there was something strange about Harrington. In hindsight, perhaps I should have looked into the matter further. But in any case, I certainly didn't expect him to pull a stunt of this scale."

Branch blinked at the lights that seemed to have brightened. The world seemed to move around him slowly, and he steadied himself with his hands on the table. He knew what was happening before Gerard even mentioned it.

"Oh, I see the drugs are taking effect," he said matter-of-factly. "To answer your earlier question, Branch, I could easily take what I need by psychic means, but it might result in brain damage. These drugs will make it much easier and safer, usually."

All strength from Branch's body seemed to drain from him, leaving him immensely tired, but not at all drowsey. "You bastard!" he said between laboured breaths. "I want to... see General... Carston."

"General Carston does not have the authority to stop me, Commissar Branch. If I so ordered it, I could have him executed for no particular reason other than my own word. I would never do such a thing, of course, but I'm afraid you're quite stuck. And don't worry, the drugs will wear off in a few days, but not until I ask you some questions."

"Suck my..." Branch struggled to finish, but could not.

"Now, tell me everything you know about General Harrington. After all, I have 30 years to catch up on. And I do mean EVERYTHING!"

-----------------------------------

Kamerov and Tokogawa retired to the Colonel's quarters nearby. The room was nice, and well furnished. It was, however, quite small, and little more than a bedroom/office.

"Do you trust him?" asked Tokogawa.

"Who?"

"Horandrin."

Kamerov raised an eyebrow. "The sorcerer? Not particularly, no. Do you?"

"Not at all."

"Not at all? Not in the slightest?" He said, walking over to the liquor cabinet.

"No."

Alexi offered the bottle, and the Admiral politely refused. "Why is that?"

"He's a sorcerer. Isn't that enough?" Tokugawa said, sitting on the colonel's desk.

With a glass of vodka in hand, Kamerov sat down on his bunk. "Is it?"

The admiral's face showed an interesting mixture of shock and puzzlement. "He's a sorcerer!"

Alexi winced against the burning vodka as it slid down his throat. "Yes, you've said that once already."

"You mean to tell me that his being an agent of Chaos doesn't bother you?" he crossed his arms, contemptuously.

"It makes me uncomfortable, yes. Even a little wary," he admitted.

"You certainly don't show it."

"You're right about that. I'm the General's second-in-command; my role is to stand by the General," Kamerov explained, simply. "Are you suggesting I re-think my alliegence?" he asked, half-seriously.

"Nothing so dramatic, Colonel. I simply wish to see you taking in this situation with a little more salt."

"I trust General Harrington, explicitly. He is not a fool. He believes in what the Shadow says. As I recall, you agreed to come on this little adventure of your own free will."

The admiral did not say anything.

"Truthfully, I'm glad you are a skeptic."

"And why is that?"

"You have the same effective rank as the General, more or less. You act as his check and balance. I'm his subordinate, so I don't normally have that luxury." Alexi finished his drink. "I'm glad that you are suspicious, so that I don't have to be."

"Humph."

"Now, if you'll excuse me, Admiral, I have some sleep to get."

------------------------------------

Gerard had been merciless, such was the nature of his profession. He had grilled the Commissar for 18 hours straight, and was only now convinced that there was no further information to be gained from his brain.

Of course, this left Commissar Branch with the mental capacity of a stalk of celery. This was hardly surprising, minds did not hold up well to deep, invasive psychic probing. More subtle techniques were available, but Gerard did not have the patience to use them. And he admitted that he was a powerful, but not particularly adept, psychic. By most standards of his comrades, he was somewhat akin to a mace walking amongst rapiers.

Gerard did not think himself especially cold, so he wished the Commissar a speedy recovery. But it would be many weeks before Branch would be able to resume his duties, and it was not unlikely that he would not fully recover.

Perhaps the most frustrating of all was that Branch's suffering had, for the most part, been in vain. While Gerard now had a clearer image of his old friend, he was not at all closer to finding the renegade general or his troops.

Gerard had a respect for how skillfully Harrington had executed his desertion. All those that knew about it had gone with him. And the few that didn't, knew nothing of importance.

And there was the letter too, something Gerard had not expected, but found fitting for a man like Harrington. He was a man of honour, and he was well aware that his actions were treasonous.

Gerard studied the letter once more. He noted the ancient debt, the Shadowatchers, and the description of their quest as a "just, noble, and good" one.

The Inquisitor noticed that this case was different from any other case involving traitor guard; they think they're doing good. All other times, the traitor guardsmen made no attempt to conceal their evil with a cause of righteousness. Usually it was plainly apparant that they had sworn alliegence to a god of Chaos. Sacrifices, bloodthrist, murderous betrayle, there was none of that here.

Gerard firmly believed that they were, nonetheless, traitors and minions of Chaos. But he wondered, could there be truth in the letter, in the legends of Minos Corva? Could there be a god out there that was truly fair and benevolent?

He snorted. "Now, wouldn't that be something?" Gerard mused, quietly. Of course, by principle, he would still have to bring Harrington and his followers to the Emperor's justice, regardless of what there cause was. For, if the cause was not humanity, then it was evil. Of course, if it WERE for humanity's sake, as the letter insisted.... /Bah! How likely would that be?/ He was about to lapse into deep thought when he was suddenly interrupted.

"Inquisitor! Inquisitor!" came an incessant call from behind. He recognized it instantly. He cursed under his breath; he had lost his train of thought.

Commissar Steinbech ran up to the Inquisitor. "Inquisitor Gerard! I've found something that will surely help you in your search for Harrington and his cohorts! Now, he will face the wrath of the Emperor and the Imperium as he-."

"Get to the point, Steinbech!" interrupted the annoyed Inquisitor. After all, he had enough sermon in his life already without a petty commissar preaching to him.

"Uh, yes, I apologize! Here," he handed Gerard a datadisk. "This is a message log from Corona Station."

Slipping the disk into a portable reader, Gerard scanned through the files. "What am I looking for?"

"File number 45403."

He played the audio file, and listened to a whispered, distant voice. Gerard grinned. "So, the Vertolli system, hmm?" He turned to the Commissar. "Excellent work, Commissar. You shall be rewarded for this assistance." /I have you now, Harrington./

Steinbech beamed proudly.

Gerard turned, and started to walk away. "Oh, and Steinbech?"

"Yes, Inquisitor?" he asked with a small smile.

"Never bother me again," he growled.

-------------------------------------

Harrington caught up to the Doom Lords Librarian as they walked out of the conference room. The space marine was headed towards the hanger. "So, Librarian," he said returning to a more formal title, "have you given any thought to the Thousands Sons remaining on the planet?"

"Of course," he replied, "I would be negligent of my duties had I not. I imagine you too have considered the matter."

"If you mean I considered striking against them, yes I did."

"It is tempting, as it is notoriously hard to find the encampments of Chaos Marines." He stopped. "However, we did not bring many men with us. We hadn't anticipated having to go to war on this simple voyage."

"But we did," the general pointed out. "My troops and I knew that battle would be a part of the Debt. You have our services, of course."

The Librarian bowed his head slightly. "Thank you for the offer, but if this threat is indeed as dire as the Shadow insists it to be, then we would do well to conserve our forces. Not that I underestimate the competency of your men, of course," he added quickly.

Harrington surpressed a prideful grin. "Of course."

"Besides, I somehow doubt that Horandrin would be comfortable with the idea. No doubt he'd prefer to convert them, rather than kill them."

"He has killed them before," Harrington pointed out.

"Out of necessity."

Harrington nodded. "For a sorcerer, he is rather surprisingly amiable. I hesistate to anger him, as I wish for us to be on good terms. And he is a rather powerful... man."

The Librarian nodded, neutrally. "If your other troops are as capable as that Sergeant Conrad of yours, we should do quite well in the battles to come."

Harrington chuckled. "Conrad is indeed as sharp as they come, though he is a bit... perculiar."

"How so?"

The general shrugged. "Well, for one thing, he never takes off that damn facemask, as far as I know."

Covan cocked an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Like I said, as far as I know. There are quite a few rumours. Shall I tell you?" asked Harrington, not really seriously.

"Maybe another time."

"Didn't think so. I'll let you go then, Librarian; I've kept you long enough, I think."

"Good night, General."

Harrington glanced at his watch, and a look of surprise flashed on his face. "I've lost track of time. Good night, Librarian." He half pivoted before stopping. "Oh, and are you to return to your ship, or stay onboard?"

"I have not decided."

Harrington nodded, and they each went their seperate ways.

-------

Horandrin walked back to the hanger alone. Covan had gone with the others, but the sorcerer had insisted on returning to his troops.

Every once and a while a passing crewman looked his way with fear in their eyes. Horandrin did not mind, for it was a reaction he had been accustomed to for centuries. His presence was intimidating and frightening, to say the least.

"Hello, sir," came a synthesized voice from behind.

The sorcerer turned, expecting to see a space marine, but instead, looked down to see a stormtrooper, in full combat armour. The armour was a dark grey that seemed suitable for shipboard operations. Instantly, Horandrin realized that the suit was of quite heavy contruction, so much so that they reminded him of Space Marine Scout armour. It was, however, the 'Kasrkin armour' that Covan had mentioned earlier.

Surprised, he still managed to reply, though somewhat awkwardly. "Hello."

There was the pause of mutual hesistation.

"That was quite a display of fighting skills I witnessed in the hanger," the guardsman said, simply.

He knew then that it was one of the guardsmen who had particpated in the battle. He was somewhat intrigued that he was attempting, what sounded like, conversation. "Thank you. Where you to grow as old as I, I think you too would acquire formidable skills."

He shrugged. "I suppose so. Still, it was quite impressive."

Horandrin spotted the man's nametag. It read 'SgM. A. Conrad'. "I'm afraid that I did not witness your fighting, Sergeant Major. I was rather occupied. But as neither myself, nor my counterpart had to tend to any of your men, I would imagine you faired quite well."

"Thank you, we did."

There was another silent moment. "Why are you still in your armour, Segeant Major? I'm curious. Are you expecting trouble?" /From us, perhaps?/ he added silently.

"No, no," Conrad answered, "I always wear my armour."

"Even your facemask?"

There was the a brief hesistation. "Yes."

"I see."

"I have my reasons. Though, nothing so absolute as yours, but nonetheless real," he said, cryptically.

Horandrin nodded.

"In any case, Sorcerer," he said, switching subjects quickly, "there is another reason I sought you out. Apart from my competence on the battlefield, I'm known as being somewhat eccentric, and a rebel of sorts. So, call it a self-indulgance, but I wanted to personally welcome you aboard." He presented his open hand. "I can't think of a more ludicrous thing, can you?" Conrad's amusement was apparent, despite the 'vox box' and his concealed voice.

Horandrin laughed, shaking his head. "Only hardly, Sergeant." And he shook his hand.

"You can fight with me any time, sir," said Conrad. "As long as you leave some for me."

"Agreed."

"Well, this is certainly an extraordinary sight," came a voice. They both turned to see Covan striding towards them with a grin plastered on his face. "Wish I had a camera," he said, half-seriously.

"Hello, sir," Conrad greeted. He did not, however, salute.

Covan wasn't a stickler for protocol, but he did notice it. "Good evening, sergeant. Building bridges, I see."

Conrad chuckled. "Yes, caught in the act. It sounds like you approve."

"Indeed, I do," he said. "I witnessed your troops in action, quite respectable. You've obvisouly been trained well."

"Some of it is training, the rest is experience. But Horandrin was the one who stole the show."

"That is true," agreed Covan.

Horandrin would have blushed if he could. He was not accustomed to admiration or compliments, and it had reached the point were he was now uncomfortable. "Please, do not say so. Many men fought bravely today, I should not be one to steal away their victory."

They nodded. "Of course, Horandrin."

"Right, sir."

"If you will excuse me, I must return to my troops," announced the sorcerer.

"I will accompany you," said Covan. "Do you wish to follow, Sergeant?"

"No, thank you, sir. I've just come back from there, actually. Good night, sirs."

"Good night, Sergeant."

"Good night."

--------

"A perculiar man," commented Horandrin as Covan walked beside him.

"Oh?"

"He wished to welcome me aboard."

Covan smiled. "Harrington told me he was perculiar, I guess he was right."

"He was not afraid," Horandrin added.

Covan raised an eyebrow. "How could you tell?"

He paused. "I could not sense any fear from him. There was an uneasiness at first, but it evaporated rather quickly." The sorcerer shook his head slowly.

"What is it?"

Another pause. "I think he was trying to befriend me."

"That certainly is extraordinary." Covan looked at Horandrin. "You don't seem happy."

"It is unfamiliar to me, after so long."

Covan nodded, understandingly as they approached the hanger entrance. "You need not hurry with your feelings, Horandrin. Unlike the rest of us, you have all the time in the world."

-----------------------------------------

Daleon had found Braxton in a neighbouring hangerbay. They had not talked since coming aboard the Redoubtable.

"How are you faring, Sergeant?" Daleon asked without preamble.

Braxton did not turn to face the sorcerer as he surveyed his unit. "As well as can be expected. I've done more adjusting in the last few hours than I have in centuries." He finally turned around. "And what about you?"

"A similar story on my part. Calderon is not taking this well, it seems," he replied. They looked over at the dreadnought, standing perfectly still next to Horandrin's thunderhawk.

"He is the oldest among us," pointed out Braxton. "He has memories older than ourselves. Memories of the Adeptus Astartes, or the Thousand Sons before we... well, you know."

Daleon nodded. "At first, I thought that would make the transition easier, but it appear I was mistaken."

"What did he say?"

Daleon cast a look at the sergeant. "What makes you think he said anything?"

"Didn't he?"

"He did. However, what he said was in confidence. I don't think I should repeat it."

"I see." Braxton sat down heavily on a box of ammunition. "Let me remind you that any problem on his part constitutes a problem on our part."

The sorcerer considered his words. "A problematic dreadnought is indeed a frightening thought." He paused, considering whether or not to keep it to himself. "He said that we should not trust these Doom Lords; that they mean to betray us."

"It is sound advice," commented Braxton. "But hardly the advice we need to hear. I'll keep an eye on him, for all our sakes."

Just then, the access doors opened, revealing Horandrin and Covan. They walked in, side by side, regarded each other and went to their respective camps.

Horandrin gestured Daleon and Braxton over, and they came promptly.

"Some developements, my friends. We will all be going to Evernight, it seems."

"Evernight?"

"The Doom Lords' homeworld," he explained.

Daleon was silent for a moment. "I see."

Horandrin would have frowned. "That is not exactly the response I was expecting."

"Horandrin, do you not think... well, perhaps we are moving too quickly?" Daleon asked quietly. "I am not arguing with your decision, I simply think that you should consider our situation."

"Our situation?"

Daleon nodded. "If I may play Tzeentch's advocate for a moment. We have only known these Doom Lords and these Guardsmen for mere hours. Are we so desperate as to throw ourselves unto their charity and good will?"

"Are we not? Are we not in need of some charity, as undeserving as we may be?"

"Yes, we need help, Horandrin, I do not dispute that. But my point is this: can we trust them?" Daleon asked seriously.

Horandrin regarded Daleon's skepticism with concerned intrigue. "I believe we can. The Emperor's minions do not take to deception. If they are anything, it is straightforward. But I am starting to wonder, perhaps, if they should trust us." He stared at Daleon. "Your thoughts trouble me, Daleon. And I do not need telepathy to know that."

Daleon looked down for a moment. "I'm sorry Horandrin. It is just that... Calderon is not as confident as you. Let us say that he is taking the Doom Lords' generousity with less than veiled skeptism."

"I see. And what of you, my friend?"

"Calderon is wise to distrust these people, Horandrin. Because it seems you cannot, or will not do so." He looked away for a moment. "I must also insist on caution. We have fought beside them, we have died beside them, and that accounts for much. But we have been betrayed before. I do not want it to happen again."

"Nor do I, Daleon. But we cannot be afraid to walk if we might fall. The Thousand Sons must walk, or our freedom will be wasted and this chance for redemption spoiled." Horandrin placed a heavy armoured hand on Daleon's shoulder. "You DO want redemption don't you?"

He nodded. "Yes, Horandrin. More than... anything."

"Then we must walk the path given to us. Walk with me, Daleon." He squeezed his shoulder for effect. "Walk with me and don't look back."

He nodded. "I will walk with you, Horandrin. But you walk with your eyes focused miles away. I walk with my eyes placed on the road ahead. I do this for you, and all of us, Horandrin. Please know that."

"I do, Daleon. Thank you." He turned to the other marine, who had been standing patiently nearby. "Braxton, tell the others that they should dust off their social skills."

Braxton chuckled at the ironic choice of words. "Yes, sir. And what of Calderon?"

"Keep an eye on him."

"My thoughts, exactly, sir."

---------------------------

Covan stepped into the open Thunderhawk, and put his helmet on an empty bench. He unstrapped the sword at his hip and placed it next to his prized force axe. /The one time I use my sword, and it nearly gets cleaved in half./ he mused.

"Perhaps you should use your axe from now on, then," came a familiar voice from behind.

"Shadow. I thought you had business elsewhere," he said turning.

The Shadow stepped out of his seclusion. "This is elsewhere, is it not? And you are my business."

"You should not come to me in this form. As benevolent as you are, my brothers do not understand you. The Thousand Sons, yes. But not you."

"It is fine," he said sitting down. "They will not remember my connection to you."

Covan frowned. "I don't approve of you tampering with their minds."

"I would not do so, normally. But it is necessary. There are no ill effects when a being such as myself does so. My powers are as accurate as an atomic clock, Covan."

"By principle, then."

"I know, and I apologize. It is, however, the least invasive means I have."

Covan sighed. "I know." He retrieved a ration bar from a storage cabinet mounted in the bulkhead. The bar was the size and colour of a brick. "What is it that you want?"

"Only to tell you that you are performing your duties admirably."

"I would still be here even if you never entered my life," he pointed out. He took a large bite of the reddish bar and chewed slowly.

"I do not doubt that, Covan. I do not control your life. This was the agreement, and it is still honoured."

Covan remained silent.

"Something troubles you, Covan?" the Shadow asked, concerned.

"Nothing."

"Covan, you can tell me, and I will listen, as I always have."

Covan nodded. "I am not sure if inviting them was such a good idea. The offer was made in haste."

"Would you like my opinion as a friend, or as a omnipotent being?"

Covan laughed. "I suppose both would be useful."

"My opinion is that your offer, made in haste as it was, is genuine. And that it will be a time for celebration, and not bloodshed between you. I think you made the right decision." He rose from his seat. "Get some rest, Covan. You will need it."

"For what?" he asked, but the Shadow was already gone.

---------------------------

I've been super-mega-ultra busy for the longest time. I'm working with a friend to open up a business, so I've had little time for much else. Rest assured that I'm still writing here and there, and I WILL finish this story.

In recent chapters, I've digressed from the Thousand Sons, and after the next chapter they will be back in the spotlight.

btw, I apologize that the formatting is a bit inconsistent between chapters. doesn't allow indents anymore, and even when I indent with spaces it strips them out. Also, I usually seperate scenes with two blank lines, but makes them all one blank line. Basically has a stupid formatting system. I don't know who the idiot is, but obviously he's never actually written anything.

So without further delay, the review responses:

Ivan Alias: I'm not actually sure when it's set in relation to the 13th Crusade, I hadn't thought about it. Safe to say before. Actually, I'm drawing a blank in regards to anythig to do with the 13th Crusade, I only recognize the term. Yes, the Space Wolves may make an appearance. About the dividers, is TOTALLY SCREWING up my formating (read above).

son-goku5: thanks, haven't seen yours, so I can't comment. I'll look for it so I can confirm your opinion :P hehe

Void Dragon: Hi, thanks for reviewing. How many ships? Tell me how many people can fit in a Luna Class and I'l tell you how many there are ;). Yes, I'm well aware that there are no female space marines, I think someone already mentioned that to "put me in my place". However, this is a deliberate aspect of the Doom Lords, not a mistake. However, the Doom Lords are NOT MY CHARACTERS. They belong to That Swedish Guy, so complain to him about it. And as a matter of fact, clones (ie. genetic twins) do not have to be the same gender. Case in point, fraternal twins. (you know, like Luke and Leia).

Irn-Bru: Hey, glad to hear that you like the story and are finding it helpful! Thanks for your vote of confidence! I too have been experimenting with standard marines with Chaos colour schemes.

EpsilonDragon: Wow, you're finding inspiration in this story too huh? Uh oh, pressure! Thanks for reviewing, and I WILL be putting more chapters up... perhaps slowly, but they will go up.

duckmasta2020: Indeed, Shadow is the only God of Light still around, the others fate is unspecified, but sufficed to say that they are in no shape to oppose the Gods of Chaos... hence why Chaos is rampant. As for piquing your interest... that's the idea! :D I reel ya in! I may even tell that story after this story is done.

Thalanox: Uh, heh, yeah... I know... it's been horribly long. But I've been busy (read above). Don't worry, the story is still going.

That Swedish Guy: Ow! Ow! Okay, okay, here! Sheesh! :P

So that's it for now, but toon in next week for the next exciting adventure of the Thousand Sons! Same Chaos time! Same Chaos channel!

(and I DO mean next week).


	15. Evernight

In the Eyes of Men

by Falconwind )

Authur Note: I am finding more and more weird things that this site does. The site is playing havoc with my otherwise prestine formatting! :angry:

Chapter Fifteen

"Evernight"

A space fleet was a massive thing, though a mere grain of sand cast into the endless sandbox of the universe. The ships of the Tellaris Fleet, accompanied by the bulk of the Doom Lord's Battlebarge, were impressive, but by no means large, as far as Imperial Fleets go.

To the inhabitants of Evernight, the sight was surprising, and only the presence of the familiar Expositus Manus prevented them from acting too strongly. Still, the confusion was tangible enough to put everyone in the Planetary HQ on edge.

Horandrin looked out of the transparent aluminum windows of the Redoubtable's bridge. He seemed, for the briefest of moments, larger than the planet itself as it rotated slowly, almost lazily, in space. The world, called Evernight, was covered in clouds, dark grey clouds that seemed to enbody the very essence of gloom. A cold, dark world, Coven had said.

Tokugawa sat in the command chair, with a slight frown on his face. The large form of the sorcerer was blocking a fourth of the bridge's view, but he did not care enough to ask the man to move. Tokugawa, as he tried to see past the armoured form, blinked and realized that Horandrin looked different than before; he looked smaller.

The helmet crest, the vaguely 'I' shaped emblem that stood out so obviously before was gone, leaving only the gold and blue that distinguished them as Thousand Sons.

The lieutenant on his right reported that the Doom Lords had made contact with the planet.

"This should be interesting," commented Harrington, from the back of the compartment.

Tokugawa merely nodded absently.

"Admiral, they're transmitting landing coordinates."

Tokugawa snapped out of his thoughts. "Very well. Captain Ross, geosynchronous orbit, if you please."

"Aye, sir."

"Horandrin," said Harrington, drawing the sorcerer's attention, "shall we head to the hanger?"

The marine nodded slowly. "Yes."

Harrington noticed that Tokugawa had not moved from his seat. "Admiral?"

"I will stay. To hold the fort."

"Are you sure? This is momentus occasion, Admiral," Kamerov asked.

"I will join you when I am certain all is well, gentlemen."

Harrington nodded, and followed Horandrin out the hatch. He knew Tokugawa well enough to tell when he had made up his mind on a course of action.

------

"The Admiral is cautious," observed Horandrin, "more so than ourselves." He walked next to Harrington, or perhaps you could say Harrington walked next to him.

"He does not like taking chances." Harrington adjusted the colalr of his uniform. "When he cannot foresee the outcome of a battle, he chooses caution."

"And what do you choose, General?"

"I choose to foresee the outcome," he replied, with a slight grin.

For a moment Horandrin stared at him. He had suddenly gotten a strang feeling, as if Harrington were letting him in on a private joke.

They walked briskly, though Harrington and Kamerov had to raise their heartrate to keep up with Horandrin's large stride. They entered the Hanger, and as they always did, the Thousand Sons rose from their seats or various other positions they were in previously. They did not stand at attention, Harrington noticed, but rather they gave him their undivided attention.

"Brothers, we have arrived," he announced to them all. The prior exhuberance had since dulled to an anxiety of interacting with people in a non-combat enviroment. After so long, they had to suppress the habit of simply killing people.

Daleon came up to the other sorcerer. "Do you wish for me to accompany you, Horandrin?"

"I'm afraid not, my friend. Please stay here for now. If anything should happen to me, I expect you to lead our men as I would."

It almost sounded like a good bye. "Are you not expecting to return?" he said, his worry filtered through the grating synthsizer.

He shook his head. "I'm simply being cautious." He motioned over Braxton, and lead them to the nearest empty Thunderhawk.

The transport, however, was far from empty. Inside, sat ten fully outfitted Storm Troopers, one of which wore the stripes of a sergeant major. He stood at attention, and saluted to the sorcerer. "About bloody time, sir."

"What are you doing here, Sergeant?" Harrington asked.

"Isn't it obvious, sir? We're your escort." Conrad glanced at Braxton, who held his storm bolter slung. "Not that I don't have any confidence in Sergeant Braxton's abilities."

Harrington looked at Kamerov, who shrugged. "I didn't order him to, but it's a good idea."

"Don't you think we might be a tad heavily armed for a delegation?" Harrington asked.

"Do you expect the Doom Lords to be any less heaviliy armed?" countered Horandrin.

"Ah, good point, I suppose. Still, if they really wanted to capture or kill us, ten Storm Troopers are not exactly going to turn the tide." Harrington saw Conrad cross his arms in front of his chest. "Not that I have any doubt in your men, Sergeant."

A heavy thud was heard behind them, and they all looked out of the ramp. Calderon's massive bulk blocked the light from the hanger.

"Okay, now THAT is a bit much," Conrad said, nonchalantly.

Horandrin confronted the Dreadnought. "You should stay here, Calderon."

"I cannot do any good in space," the cyborg replied.

"You are far too menacing a sight," Horandrin tried to rationalize.

"And a Chaos Sorcerer is not? I am coming, and if you wish, you may try to stop me." He started to walk forwards onto the ramp, and everyone was forced to move back into the hold.

"You realize that this is insubordination," Harrington growled, as he squeezed in between Conrad and one of his troopers.

"Then lock me inside a little box for a week," was the Dreadnought's reply.

"Har, har," Harrington wasn't amused.

"I just hope they don't freak out when the door opens and they see him," commented Kamerov.

"I'm certain they're smart enough to realize that nobody loads a Dreadnought in backwards if they're going to fight. After all, there are no weapons on his ass," Conrad said, laughing. No one else laughed.

-------

The day was a fairly bright one, as far as Evernight days go. It was no more than an average day of forecast in most climates, but on this world, it was a warm summer. Well below the mountain side, under the watchful gaze of the the Doom Lord's fortress monastery, lay the darknened and shadowy world of their adoption. Legion Master Rodriguez, of course, could not see the constant bright lights of city, for the thick grey clouds blocked his vision.

A veteran space marine of 250 years, he was clad in the legendary Blood Armour of which the lower right leg glistened with the blood of the Emperor, still wet after 10 millenia. The blood was put there when the original wearer of the armour knelt by the wounded Emperor, and recieved the orders to evacuate the Lords of Wrath and the Doom Guard. The armour was sacred and embued with miraculous power.

He thumbed the hilt of his Power Sword absently, as he stared up into the bright blue sky. The briefest disturbance in the air told him that someone was approaching from behind.

"Master Rodriguez, Brother Argus and his autocannon are in position upon the hill side, along with his devastator squad and three others. The 1st Company is battle-ready, as you ordered," informed the Doom Lord's Chaplain. Sister Severast was a woman of somewhat advanced age, though she wore her 400 years well, not that one could tell behind her helmet.

"Good, and Sergeant Tarkov?" he asked.

"Taken out of stasis, as ordered, Master Rodriguez. The technicians are replenishing his autocannon ammunition and flamer fuel." Sister Severast held the Book of the Imperator Demittus closely to her armoured chest, as if holding onto it against a strong wind. "Are you truly expecting treachery?" she asked.

Rodrigues looked at her passingly. "Yes, Mother... I would be foolish not to."

She nodded slowly. "I pray that you will be proven wrong."

"No more than I, Mother. I wish this to be a time for celebration, not battle."

"But you cannot take the chance, yes, I understand, Master Rodrigeuz." wind gusted suddenly as their conversation reached an impasse. "It is strange," she began without preamble, "that I do not think most of us ever truly thought that this day would come. It is something we wish for, pray for, but do not truly expect to see played out before us."

"Yes... ideals are rarely put into practice so... vividly."

Another Space Marine, wearing the standard glossy black of the Legion and carrying the Legion's banner high, ran up to the two marines. "Master Rodriguez, Sister Severast. All personnel are ready. Tarkov, Theodore and Lobard are standing by with the 1st Company."

"Good. They understand to hold fire unless fired upon, correct?" the Legion Master asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Very good, Rackar, stand by my side." The standard bearer did so.

The Legion Master caught the slightest movement in the sky. It was very difficult to see, and was somewhat obscured by the glare of the sun. He donned his helmet and use the magnification and optic filters to bring the object into view. It was actually two objects "Thunderhawks... Heresy Pattern... one in our colours, the other in blue, white, and gold."

"The Thousand Sons, just as Covan said," Severast said, absently.

Rodriguez switched on his radio. "1st Company, assume parade formation."

Rackar, looked at the Legion Master, surprised. "That is not an efficient battle formation," he said, as if Rodriguez didn't now that.

"I'm aware of that, Rackar. But seeing a company in battle formation would not be very hospitable, would it?" Besides, they were still battle ready.

The standard bearer grumbled, but did not press the matter.

The Thunderhawks were plain to the eyes as if continued to descend. One dropped at a surprising rate, and just as the three Doom Lords thought it was going to crash on the landing pad, the engines roared and slowed the massive dropship to a crawl with a mere two meters to spare. The pilot's precision was impressive to say the least, perhaps only outdone by his brashness. The landing was feather soft, the perfect combat drop. The other Thunderhawk landed well enough.

The Thousand Sons Thunderhawk's turret was pointed skyward, threatening only open sky. They noticed that the symbols of Tzeentch had been roughly scraped off, revealing the bare metal.

There was a period of inaction, as they waited for someone or something to emerge from the craft.

Finally, there was the unmistakable sound of a seal being broken, and the hatches finally opened. Covan and his squad stepped out of the black and red thunderhawk first, and approached swiftly. The Legion Master removed his helmet, and embraced his battle brother in a handshake and hug.

"It is good to see you returned safely, Covan," he said.

"Thank you Legion Master, but I was in little danger," he assured him. "Shall we meet our new friends?"

"Indeed, let's."

Covan walked over to the thunderhawk and rapped on the hatch. It slid open, revealing a normal human in some sort of light battle armour, his face obscured by mask and helmet. The exchanged words and the soldier nodded and stepped out of the hatch onto the duracrete.

He scanned the area with his eyes, as Rodriguez had seen many a veteran soldier do. The stripes on his sleeve denoted him as a Sergeant Major, the highest noncommissioned rank one could attain. Following him were two Imperial Officers, one colonel, one grand general.

After them, were four more soldiers, Imperial Guard Storm Troopers, he realized, and two space marines. Rodriguez blinked, and recognized them as Thousand Sons, sans the huge head ornaments. He was somewhat surprised how normal they looked without them.

"Legion Master Rodriguez, may I present Grand General Harrington, and Colonel Kamerov." They regarded each other, but it was plain that both were more than willing to get to the task at hand.

"And this is is Horandrin, Sorcerer of the Thousand Sons, and Sergeant Braxton."

For a moment, the feeling of electricity in the air made hairs stand on end. There was a atmosphere of utter unsureness, that anything could happen. The wind swirled about them, flourishing Horandrin's robes and the Doom Lords Standard.

Horandrin stood, unmoving, until he stepped forward, offering his hand. "Legion Master, an honour."

Rodriguez seemed to judge the sincerity in a mere moment. He grasped the gauntlet. "Horandrin, it is I who am honoured. I have never before greeted a sorcerer in friendship."

"Nor I a Legion Master such as yourself," countered Horandrin.

Rodriguez gestured to the Chaplain next to him. "This is Sister Severast, our Chaplain and priest of the Imperator Demittus."

"An honour, Sister. Covan has told me of your Legion's unique gift," Horandrin bowed, dashingly. "And your unique beliefs."

"As he has told us of your extraordinary feat, Sorcerer." She bowed in return. "I believe that the fact that we are not engaged in mortal combat is a good omen, don't you?"

"Indeed," Horandrin agreed.

Rodriguez looked towards Harrington. "And you, General, helped to bring this about?"

"Yes, I'm proud to say that did. Though in all fairness, it was Horandrin that made the choice. I simply picked them up."

"I see. Still you took an awful risk," commented the Chaplain.

"We were willing to take that risk." Harrington grinned. "Though, I must say that you are also taking a leap of faith, as it were."

"In the most literal sense, General, you are right," Rodriguez nodded. "Horandrin, you would do me and my legion honour if you would accompany me inside," he said, gesturing with a sweep of the hand.

"It would be my pleasure," was the sorcerer's response.

They made their way into the massive fortress, past the imposing doors, and into a cavernous atrium. Row upon row of space marines stood at attention, their bolters held crosswise against their chests, as still as statues.

Horandrin could sense their combined lifeforce, and the slightest of movements, particularly of their heads, told him that he was not walking amongst mere sculptures. The space marines stood, in what Horandrin knew as, classic pre-heresy parade formation.

"How many do you number here?" Horandrin asked, aware only after the fact that it could be interpreted at gathering intelligence. He was, however, simply curious.

"Twenty companies are home at this time," the Legion Master said, continue their steady walk past the large congregation. "Roughly 2000 brothers. That does not include civilian support personnel."

"Civilians?" Horandrin asked, unsure of what he meant.

"Yes. We employ a number of civilians, usually in a logistics or maintenance role."

"That is highly unorthodox, if I remember correctly," Harrington said, speaking what was on Horandrin's mind as well.

"It should be obvious that we are an unorthodox legion, or else we would not be having this conversation." They finally came to the end of the assembly. Before them, was a raised platform with a podium. "To put it simply, Horandrin, we understand the nature of man. And that is reflected in the Imperator Demittus."

The assembly was momentarily a roar of footsteps, as the space marines turned in perfect unity to face the podium.

"We would like to learn of your nature, Horandrin. We want to understand you," Severast said, almost gently, as if not to spook him.

For the second time in his long life as a noncoporeal being, Horandrin was almost afraid. He did not know where to begin. He had not anticipated speaking to the entire Doom Lords Legion. His mind drew a blank. "What would I say?"

"Anything in you heart," Severast said, her hand on his shoulder. "Everything that you say is a testament to the Imperator Demittus. Every moment you walk among us without conflict, is a testament."

"You speak of me as if I am some prophet or messiah," Horandrin said, his voice wavering.

Covan looked at him seriously. "In a way, Horandrin, you are."

----------------------------

I think that's a good place to stop it. I was very surprised that I found the story was almost evolving beyond my ability to tell the story. I may have shot myself in the foot by making Harrington and the others very detailed. This took a lot longer than I expected. I just couldn't seem to get into the groove. I've pretty much exhausted the pre-planed storyline that i had in the beginning, and now i have to figure out how to get to the ending i have in mind. please bear with me. or not, it's up to you.

I'm really sorry that I didn't make my deadline that I set myself. I thought it would help motivate me, but it seems I don't work well under pressure.

Ivan Alias: I always enjoy your comments. What could be up with Conrad?


End file.
